


Rhythmic Steps, Beats and Skips

by coveryourheads (rsk110)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping Atlanta with his brother Merle, Daryl Dixon joins the group at the quarry camp.  He meets Glenn.  He notices something 'off' about him.  He knows where Merle keeps in his stash, what sort of effects they have on him.  He doesn't want to care, but he can't seem to keep his mind off of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty

Daryl Dixon shifts uncomfortably on the log someone had dragged over in front of the fire. He'd been glad and at the same time, uneasy from, well, everything. It had been difficult to escape Atlanta. He and his brother, Merle, had to fight a lot of those people... Walkers, the old man in his fishing hat had called them. There are plenty of words he wants to call them, but that sounds just about right. Walkers. The Walking Dead. The brothers have been given food, however little it is. They had a tent in the back of his truck because they had been planning to go hunting. Merle's bike takes up most of the space since he could not leave it. Now they have ended up with this ragtag group of city folks who think it's safe up here just because they have some guns and some ammo. Daryl takes a second look over the guy called Shane, who still has his police-issue cargos and boots. He knows they are unwelcome, but he decides to stick around until they can find something better. 

Most of it is because he's sick of not sleeping and trying to save both their asses. 

Merle is already deciding the group isn't worth any of his time. He sniggers at the black fellow who congenially introduces himself, as well as the women, and a scrutinizing once over the skinny Asian kid who speaks with a northern accent. Merle is no good with folks who aren't white. He expects this from Daryl. Daryl's been living and working in Atlanta long enough; he doesn't think skin color makes much difference. Personality though is a whole other thing. 

Daryl decides to play nice at least for now, since they are helping strangers without a second thought. He also decides if the cop gives either of them any trouble, they'll leave immediately. 

Merle goes down to the quarry where the water looks clean. Daryl is stuck with setting up the tent and tries to make some order out of what little they have. It isn't that he's ever had much. He'd made life better for himself, despite barely graduating high school and trouble with law since his youth. He had a job, a decent apartment, a bank account and payments left on the truck. He had friends whom he could meet on the weekends to hit the bars with, some he'd actually cared about. He'd a girlfriend or two, never with the intention to settle down, but it had been nice to have someone near him because he'd always been so alone. 

It's the Asian kid who comes up to him asking if he can help. Daryl looks him up and down. His gut instinct is to say no, but he's awfully tired from the weeks of running. The kid doesn't look like he's ever camped in the woods before but he doesn’t need to be told what to do. 

"That's really cool," the kid says, looking at the crossbow he's leaned carefully against a tree. 

"Saved our lives plenty of times," Daryl says. And the kid smiles up at him, still crouched at hammering down the pegs. 

"I'm Glenn, by the way. In case you need something." 

Daryl doesn't reply right away. He bites down on his lips instead. 

"You are Daryl. Shane told me." The kid looks over toward the group where the cop is standing with his hands over his hips. "I go down to Atlanta once a week, for supplies. And I go tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything, k?" 

"Once a week? By yourself?" 

"Yeah," Glenn's face hides under the shade of his hat. "I'm fast and I know how to get in and out. And it's not like... Well, I don't have family like you, or Carl or Sophia or Amy... Besides..." 

The kid doesn't continue, concentrating on the peg instead. 

"Kid, my brother and me, we spent weeks trying to get out of Atlanta, and you’re going in there? You got a weapon?" 

"Got a bat." 

"A gun? Knife?" 

"Nope." The kid is smiling though. It causes some uneasiness in Daryl's stomach. It might have been the food and it might be the altitude. It could be anything. It certainly isn't a kid smiling at him. 

 

\--- 

 

Daryl is jerked awake. It's a terrible nightmare. He can't remember it though, except the sour taste and a lingering cloud in his head. He pulls a tee shirt on, groaning at the pain of his knotted muscles. He may be country but it never meant he's liked sleeping on bare minimum. He'd saved up for a nice mattress even before cashing out for a down payment on his truck. There is always pain at his lower back, where he'd been shoved back to the hard kitchen counter at thirteen. It remains and will never mend fully. He has to sit up straight, stretch, trying to get the knots out. Merle is snoring away on the other side of the large tent. Daryl shoves his feet into his boots and exits the humid heat of the tent. 

He's not surprised that the fire has died. It takes him longer because the wood isn't dry. Georgia mornings are dusted with dew. The fire glows nicely after he works on it. He realizes just then the old man sitting on top of his RV, looking at him from moment to moment, hand clutching the strap of his shotgun. Daryl doesn't acknowledge him though. He's left a bucket in front of his tent to collect some water overnight. He pours out some into a tin cup, being careful of the small pieces of dirt and leaves, to boil it up. He's used to coffee in the mornings. Even during the many camping trips, he'd always had a bag of fresh ground coffee to start the day with. It's one of the things he misses. 

The water isn't for drinking though. He rolls up the leg of his grimy pants. He had tripped over a broken down fence when there had been too many walkers to take down. The barbed wires cut and dug in deep into his shin. He'd stitched the inches of broken skin with a regular needle and thread he'd found in a gas station. It had stopped the bleeding but now he has to pull the thread out before it festers. He chides himself for this. If he can get his hands on some antibiotics, it won't as bad as it could be. And it isn't the worst thing his body had endured. He's learned a long time ago how to mend and hide wounds. 

He cleans his hands with the little of the hot water. He's going to do this quick and fast before people wake up and ask questions. Then suddenly the Asian kid is in front of him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

"We had to use most of it but there should be enough." 

Daryl looks at him in disbelief. 

"And I can get more." 

The kid hovers around even after he takes the bottle. There's barely any in there. But it should be enough. 

"You mind?" 

"Sorry." The kid steps back at his barked words. Daryl shakes his head, turning his attention back to his leg.

Daryl winces, pulling and cutting, pulling and cutting. It stings more than he had thought. He pours some of the alcohol over the wound. It's purple around the cut, still swollen and pus oozing out. It had taken all of his concentration so he'd not noticed the absence of the kid. He's glad for it because he hadn't wanted an audience. The kid comes back with a big empty knapsack over his shoulders. He silently hands him some gauze and tape. 

"What are you a walking pharmacy?" 

"I had some just in case. I can get more." 

Daryl notices the kid's face is a little flustered. His breathing is faster than before. He takes the gauze and dresses the wound. It's only flesh. But then it's all that he has left in this world. 

"I'll be back before dark. Are you sure you don't need anything?" 

Daryl says no. Glenn fixes his cap and gives him the slighted smile, running down the hill. It leaves him with the same cloudy head he's had in the morning. 

 

\--- 

 

Daryl understands immediately that he has to earn his place in the camp. Merle certainly won't contribute, except when it comes to life or death situations. It looks safe here so far and the old man had answered there had been no walkers this far up the hills yet. Daryl doesn't like his sharp eyes, the way he stares at him as if reading a book. With a source of water like that there are bound to be animals. Daryl takes his crossbow and knife, a canteen of boiled water to go hunting. It feels like how it used to be; tracking, shooting, tracking, and shooting. 

The people may cringe but they are impressed by the heap of squirrels and a hare. He's lost the doe he's been tracking all day. The sun is about to go down. Merle actually does something, taking the game to clean them. No one else knows how to, so this might be the reason. 

Daryl cleans his bolts, the tips already dull from over use. One woman with a bruised cheek and careful eyes come up asking how they should be cooked. Merle is about to make a smart comment but Daryl beats him to it. He tells her there's barely meat enough to feed all of them. They can stew, if she's got a big pot. She gives a hint of a smile, saying she does. Night is nearing. He asks the old man if the Asian boy is back yet. 

Dale, the RV has his name on it, tells him not yet. And also not to worry. Glenn is fast and smart. If he can't get out, he'll stay the night hiding. It isn't a satisfying answer but Daryl pushes it out of his head. He's not got the mind to worry about some kid. Still, he can't sleep well and is woken by a nightmare in the dark. 

 

\--- 

 

It rains hard all morning. Daryl takes a chair under the RV's open awning with the little girl. She's shivering but he doesn't have anything to cover her with. He can hear through the rain some yelling, shouting, a fist hitting skin from one of the tents. It reminds him of too many things. He can't do anything about it; not back then, not now. He doesn't rebuke the little girl inching closer to him. 

"Are you worried about Glenn?" 

"No." 

"I am." The little girl turns away, looking down at the road. The rain isn't going to let up today. 

Daryl supposes he had that look when he'd been young. The look the girl has. So many pains deep inside where nothing can cure them. Daryl flinches when the girl's head falls against his arm. She hasn't noticed because her eyes are still closed. He wills himself to relax, letting her rest against him. The camp is quiet all morning until the afternoon. 

"Daryl," Dale calls to him. The old man is pointing to the road. He wakes the girl as gently as he can. Her large eyes open up. The girl gets up from the chair, flinging herself back. She looks sorry, eyes watering. Daryl tells her instead to look up to the road. 

"Glenn!" She beams. Daryl tries to act like he doesn't care when the kid comes up to the camp. The two blonde sisters come out of the RV, greeting the kid. Some people look interested. The cop, Shane, comes over with the skinny woman and her son. They all laugh at the things he's brought back. Some food stuff, some medicine, a crushed box of 9mms Shane takes away. No one asks him why he's a day late. No one asks why he's limping. Glenn has this smile across his face as he's pulling out item after item. But his eyes look around anxiously, as if he's lost something. Daryl watches quietly, standing behind everyone else. His shoulder gets drenched. Glenn meets his gaze, the smile faltering a little. 

The rain has slowed down by nightfall but everything is wet. It's a little cold to stay outside but Daryl remains near the RV. Glenn jogs toward him from his tent. He has a sweatshirt on. He has something in his hand. He looks over at all the dark tents. He stands in front of Daryl. 

Daryl is actually impressed. He raises an eyebrow. 

"There was a sporting goods store near the pharmacy. I got stuck there. It was mostly cleaned out but I found that half box of ammo and these." The carbon bolts are brand new. Glenn gives him these without expectations. He turns, heading back to his tent. 

"How did you hurt your leg?" 

Glenn's eyes are wide. "I fell at a funny angle, climbing down a fire escape." 

And he stands still as if waiting for something. 

"You alright?" 

The large dark eyes tremble. He bites down on his lip. "I can manage. I'm fine." 

Daryl knows the tone. He uses it all the time. So he doesn't push further. 

 

\--- 

 

He doesn't know why but he finds himself staring at the kid. Once it is during dinner, sitting by the fire with everyone. He notices the kid shifting his food around with his fork rather than actually eating. Another time, he sees him sitting in the quarry with his feet dipping in the water. The rock is the one he's picked to do some washing and cleaning because it's large and flat. The women prefer to stay on the beach but he prefers the other edge where he's least likely to get caught up in an awkward conversation. He stands there watching the kid kicking his feet in the water. He watches until he gets up, massaging his shoulder and upper arm. The kid is surprised and nearly falls into the water. Daryl doesn't say anything, and Glenn stuffs his feet into his sneakers and disappears. 

Another time Glenn just sits on the hood of a car everyone had their way with. It's nothing but the frame and body. The backseat has been torn out to be used as a bench of sorts. Glenn sits on the hood with his back slumped staring down the road. Daryl is busy with Merle trying to go out hunting. Merle wants to go another route but Daryl wants to hunt his doe down. It has never been good to go hunting with Merle. But he figures his brother could use the break from the crowd and Shane trying to act like such a big shot. Merle goes into the tent for a minute. Daryl bites the skin on his thumb, contemplating. He walks over to the broken down car. 

"You got a problem with venison?" 

"What?" 

"Or you don't eat meat or somethin'?" 

"Daryl, what are you talking about?" 

Daryl frowns. He doesn't have a real reason for starting a conversation with him, so he's saying things he doesn't mean. 

"I mean, I'm goin' hunting, with Merle. If you got problem with eating squirrels I could--" 

Glenn laughs. His head is thrown back. His laughter feels like it's cooling up the hot air swirling around him. 

"I don't have a problem with squirrel. It isn't all that bad. I just..." Glenn trails off and before he can hear the end of it, Merle begins calling out to him. Daryl walks away without an explanation. At the edge of the camp, he glances back from where he can still see him. Glenn rubs his left shoulder, rotating his arm. Maybe he's hurt his shoulder as well. Daryl shakes the thought away. It's none of his concern. He successfully tracks the doe but Merle's heavy steps frighten her away. 

They get a little lucky though, catching four big hares and a couple of squirrels. Daryl actually smiles for the first time since the end of the world. As they make their way back, Merle startles him with a question. 

"You and that Asian boy have something?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Like, an arrangement." Merle's eyes dart to his new set of bolts. 

"No arrangements. He just saw them when he went down to Atlanta." 

"Uh huh. Don't get close to these people, Daryl. What did I tell you about getting close to people?" 

"Yeah. I know." 

"It's just you and me in this whole fucked up world, lil' brother. Just you and me. Don't you forget that." 

Daryl ignores Glenn all night and the next day. He feels Merle's presence harder than ever. Shane and the others say the wrong things and Merle blows his short fuse. The cusses and slurs spill from his brother's mouth and there is nothing Daryl can do about it. He sides with Merle, shouting things he's heard Pa and Merle say a million times. He sees the disgust on everyone's faces. He breathes hard, the temper he had been so sure he's learnt to control getting shorter and hotter. He wants to pack up and get away. Then he sees Glenn at the edge of their heated argument. 

Glenn, he's clutching his chest, his mouth open to suck in air hard. No one notices this; not even Dale. Daryl stops, turning away. He shoves Merle away from the others, telling him to cool down. He also tells Shane to back off, a hand thrusting to warn him away. They all disperse, the yelling ceased. It's temporary but instinct lets him know it'll happen again. He tries to ignore Glenn panting for breath while making his way to his tent. 

It isn't the situation that has affected the kid. There is something wrong with him; Daryl trusts his hunter instinct. But he's got to take care of Merle now. He comes out to Dale calling for him. He's a good man, as far as he can tell. Dale doesn't judge him with his eyes, not like the others. He doesn't like his actions. Dale tells him dinner is ready; he's earned his share in the camp. Even after an argument, no one will deny him and Merle their share of food. He almost asks Dale about Glenn; they seem close. The assembly by the road and the fire gives him a look. And he sees Glenn there, a plate of whatever's on the menu tonight on his lap. 

So he dismisses the thought, taking two plates for his brother and himself. He slides his share down on to Merle's as soon as he turns his back to the group. Merle is always complaining about the portion. Says he's eaten better in prison. He hands Merle the plate heaped with food he cringes at. Merle is about to ask so Daryl shrugs saying he's not hungry. Merle glances up his way. Daryl exits before Merle wants more explanation. The group is still congregated around the fire, keeping warm. Daryl doesn't mind the company if they keep their questions and their eyes to themselves. The ones he doesn't think scrutinizing are the old man's and the kid's. 

Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder. He walks around the group to get down to the quarry. He wants to do some thinking or not to. Shane barks out his name. Daryl shoots him a cold one saying it's none of his business and that he can take care of himself fine. What makes him stop himself in the middle of walking is Glenn. His dark eyes shimmering from the low flames. The kid is biting down on his lip looking a little blue on his pale skin. Daryl studies him, completely unheeding Shane's words. Then the thought hits him. 

Glenn is sick. He's sick with something and it's not the virus or parasites or whatever causing people to rise from the dead. Perhaps he's always been sick. He's slight for his height and it's not from the lack of food. He doesn't have the sickly scent he can feel from people who are visibly not in good health. It's something though; like he's lived with it his whole life. It hurts him and he tries to hide it. Daryl knows his eyebrows are scrunching at the middle, glaring at the kid. So he has a secret. It's something he wants to desperately hide from the rest of them. 

No one notices because they aren't looking for it. Like the limp Glenn's had for almost a week. Or the cuts on Daryl's skin. Or Merle's drug problems. Or T-Dog's stare at Ed every time he lights a cigarette. The way Amy's fingers can't stop moving as if she's on her computer or phone. Or the way Andrea bites on her thumbnail, the same as he, when he can't satisfy his longing for hard liquor. The nervousness of Jim's steps like he's been through real hell even though he won't talk about it. Things like that, he notices. Glenn clutching his shoulder or rubbing the side of chest trying to ease some kind of pain. The way Carol turns her face abruptly to hide the fresh bruises. The people here have more problems than juvie, Daryl scoffs. Daryl stomps away, sending a finger at Shane's direction. 

He sits on his rock beside the quarry, staring at nothing. The sky, the stars, and their perfect reflection in the too clear water. He stretches out, arms folded beneath his head. It's cool, not cold, and he can sleep out here. The area still retains that smell of blasted rocks and marble dust. The stars spin slowly up above. He finds the north star, the bright large speckle up there that is the one constant thing. Merle had told him that when they'd been little. Merle knows things like that; for survival. It had been that time when Merle found out he'd gotten lost for days with Pa gone. Merle had pulled him out of their dingy shack to show him the star, telling him how to find his direction and footing if he ever got lost again. What he had wanted then was for Merle to say he'd be there for him. But no; Merle never. At least he never got lost again. 

Daryl wakes up to the bright morning light over the high rocks around. Some damn mosquitos had had a feast on his exposed skin. He washes with the cool water, dropping his shirt in to clean it the best he can. They've all run out of soap. Dish soap, hand soap, bars, liquid, detergent, whatever they had, they'd done using it up. Perhaps he'll ask the kid for one of his preferences the next time he goes down to the city or one of the smaller towns. Perhaps he'll go with him just for kicks because it beats sitting around the camp listening to Shane and Lori humping in the woods 'away' from everyone, stifling the obvious noises, or any of the whiny dramas these people come with. He's got most of the dirt off his shirt but it still needs some good scrubbing. He wrings it out, hooks it in his belt, walking back up to the camp. When he gets there Dale tells him Glenn's gone down to Atlanta. There is a slight throb inside his chest. He doesn't know why. 

He gets a dry shirt, hanging the damp one over one of the clothes lines. He wordlessly stalks into the woods.

\---


	2. Estranged

 

Glenn rakes his fingers through his damp hair twice before wedging the baseball cap back over his head. It isn't something he likes to wear but it keeps hair falling into his eyes whenever he moves. He wants a haircut but he won't ask any of the women here to do that for him. Carl gets his hair trimmed by Lori every week, only because she insists. She probably has nothing else to occupy her time anyway.

It's sizzling hot over the asphalt; he has no choice but to walk the miles. He had located a town in a walkable distance from the quarry. Rather than going down to Atlanta, he's opted to try for the town. He stays near the trees lined up along the single lane freeway. The map is folded into his back pocket. His bag is light but for the canister of water and some emergency food he has kept in the pockets. He's stuck his aluminum bat in his bag, and he finds himself thinking about Daryl: the way his blue eyes quirked at him when he said all he has is his bat, no other weapons.

Daryl and his brother look like the reddest rednecks he's ever seen. They talk like they look, too. He can see in Merle's sneer a genuine dislike of him, T or Jacqui or the Morales. Merle doesn't hide it; it's like he's proud of it. Daryl, too, speaks like Merle, throws insults just like Merle. But he's different, Glenn can see. Daryl's quiet when Merle isn't around. And he's always observing; studying each and every one of their group as if they're prey to his hunt. Glenn is especially uncomfortable when he finds Daryl studying him.

He sees a road sign for the town. The trees are starting to thin out. There is a stopped car not too far ahead. Glenn lets himself jog over, grabbing the bat out of his pack first. The car is empty. No keys in the ignition either. The doors are locked. Maybe the owner will come back. Glenn sighs. He takes a measured sip of water. He goes on walking down the lane, glad for the little decline of the hill. He wants to make it into the town before the heat becomes unbearable.

  
\---

  
Glenn makes sure each street is clear before crossing the intersections. It's a town like any other, small and quaint. It has everything in the two block stretch, like a simulation computer game. There aren't any geeks he can see, but he's learned his lesson on being careful. He crosses the street to the corner diner. A quick peek lets him know it's empty inside. It takes three seconds to locate the grocery store and the pharmacy down the block. He makes his way over, staying low between cars. The door isn't locked to the pharmacy but it doesn't look like it had much to begin with. He closes and locks the door behind him, just as a minimal precaution. He takes whatever he thinks they might need, soap and toothpaste and two rolls of toilet paper because they're always running out. Half his pack is filled before he gets to the over-the-counter medicine section. He takes a bottle of aspirin, some antacid pills. Even if any stomach problem anyone has these days is hunger...

Though for the past week or so, they'd been eating meat stew, even if the meat is something he had never thought he'd eat before. Glenn lets a small smile creep up his face. He's reminded of what Daryl had said to him. Everyone had grimaced at the small woodland creatures Daryl had brought back, strung together and lifeless. He had problems with them, yeah, but it's better than starving. So why had Daryl asked him specifically about it?  Glenn goes into the medicine room, shifting bottles after bottles.  He wants to understand Daryl just a little bit more, but then again, he sort of doesn't want to.  He's hostile, doesn't work well with others and highly likely to shoot first then ask questions. Though he hasn't yet.

Glenn reads the labels until he locates painkillers. He stuffs the Percocet and Vicodin bottles into the side pockets of his pack. There aren't much but they might need them. He scans through all the shelves once, going back to do it again.

"Fuck..." He lets out. He whips the cap off his head, combing his greasy hair back. He goes through each section again. Nothing. A fist bangs down on the flat shelf. "Fuck!"

He knows he should have expected this but the let down is a little too much. He breathes deeply. His heart throbs for a moment, skipping a beat.

\---

  
Glenn climbs up the hill slowly, letting the evening breeze cool him down. He's starving but he'd eaten some food he'd found at the grocery store. Whatever he's able to carry, he's brought back. There are two extra shopping bags full of cans and boxed stuff. The gravel sends up dust as he's trudging up the hill. The kids run up when he's almost at the camp, and he lets them carry the bags. It's always a cheerful moment when he returns with the salvaged stuff. It's the only moment where he feels like he's contributing rather than just sitting around twiddling his thumbs.  
The women have already started on making dinner. It's another of the Dixon brothers' hunts. Glenn hands Carol the box of salt he'd remembered to grab this time. She thanks him quietly. As always, Carol's husband is close by with a burning cigarette pinched between two fingers. Glenn fills up his canteen with some water before returning to his tent.

Inside, he lets the appearance fall, rotating his shoulder uncomfortably. His chest aches. He drinks water, hoping he can get through without taking one of his pills. Maybe if he gets some dinner, he'll feel better. He remembers the painkillers he'd grabbed from the pharmacy. He steps out the tent with the bottles. The sun is half way down the horizon, and it's hard to see without light. They'll congregate around the fire for dinner and probably talk. He doesn't dislike the talking, likes the feeling he's not so alone, but he can't help but think it is superficial at times, trying to make a family when obviously they are not. Glenn feels eyes on him, and he isn't wrong. He finds Daryl sitting with his brother at the fire, cleaning his knife and the bolts. Daryl is staring at him, making Glenn pause in his steps. He forces his feet to move. He finds Dale inside his RV with Andrea and Amy.

"Here," Glenn hands the bottles over to Dale. "I found these at the pharmacy. I thought maybe we might need them. And I thought you should hold on to them."

"That's thoughtful of you," Dale clasps him on the shoulder. "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I guess I have a little headache from the heat." Glenn manages to smile.

Andrea is sorting out all the things he's brought back. She finds the aspirin among them. "Take some aspirin. Eat plenty and get some rest, Glenn."

"I think I will."

"Maybe I should go along next time you go on a run. We should really talk about that with everyone." Andrea says and Dale agrees.

"But--" Amy starts but stops. Glenn knows what she is thinking.

"I'm fine going by myself," Glenn says. Partly because it's easier knowing he only has to watch out for himself, and partly because he doesn't want anyone to know why he's insisted on going into the geek-ridden city when it's easier to find emptied towns or... Going hunting for food.

"We'll talk about it with everyone." Dale says with finality.

\---

  
And they talk about it. It ends up in everyone leaving in disgust as Merle continues on scrutinizing the entire group. Glenn pushes as much food down his throat during this, not listening, and hoping they'll just stop or fight it out. The night ends when Lori pulls Carl away from the group, Shane growling out some of his opinions about the Dixon brothers (though unfair to Daryl since Merle usually instigates). Glenn is glad for the end of that and returns to his tent. It's hot and he's sticky with sweat but that doesn't stop him from sleeping.

The next morning, he wakes up to the tearing pain beneath his ribs. His shaking fingers dig through his pack. He curses silently at the child-proof lid. He dry swallows a pill, waiting until it calms him enough. It skips a beat, another, until the pain eases down to barely manageable. He hasn't had this kind of attack yet. He would have to get down to Atlanta again, and soon, before he runs out and something really bad happens. He blames it on the heat, wiping the sweat off his face with his hand. It's still early where everyone's probably sleeping.

As always, he finds Dale up on his RV.

"Glenn, you're up early." Dale's voice is chipper and Glenn is glad for that.

"Yeah, it was too hot to keep sleeping. I'm going to go down to the pool for a swim. I'll be back before breakfast."

"Take your time. I'll let Shane know what you're up to and keep everyone away." Dale replies with a wink.

The blue-green pool is clear and the water is cold from the boulders all around that keep the sunlight away. He doesn't hesitate shucking his clothes off. He wades in slowly over the slippery rocks underfoot. Water cools him down, and it feels great to let it wash away all the dirt and sweat off his skin. Glenn swims out into the deeper area. He hopes there aren't any scary flesh-eating fish down there. He's seen a few small ones, a couple of frogs here and there. He floats back to the edge of the pool. From the way his skin feels pruned, he must have been in the water longer than he anticipated. He quickly dries off, putting on some cleaner clothes, shoving his bare feet into his sneakers.

He's smiling and half whistling on his walk back to the camp. There is a skip. A beat. It feels good to be clean and cool.

\---

  
When he's not going out on a supply run, there's always something to do around the camp. Glenn makes himself useful and helps Jim work on one of the motors. He isn't sure if he's doing it right but Jim seems like he's satisfied with his help. He's trying to concentrate on what Jim's doing. But his focus keeps turning towards Daryl.

Daryl doesn't look at him. He hasn't since that night of everyone arguing over dinner. Daryl hadn't gone out hunting the day before. He just sits with his brother, by their camp. It isn't like Glenn wants Daryl's attention but it prickles his insides. Strange. His heart skips a beat.

After a moderate lunch, the women take Carol's beat up truck down to the quarry with the big load of laundry. Glenn is rather shy about handing over his clothes, but he also doesn't want to keep wearing dirty clothes, nor does he know how to scrub them himself. At least Carol doesn't seem to mind very much. As long as he brings back things, (even a pack of cigarettes the one time) he doesn't have to feel too guilty. He notices the dwindling pile next to the fire pit. Dale has an ax so he burrows it to chop down some wood.

He doesn't wander very deep into the woods, but enough so that he's alone. He picks a random tree, figuring it'll just do. The ax is held in both hands, and he takes a big swing--

"It ain't baseball." Glenn's body twirls at the voice, the ax behind him. He doesn't lose his grip, thank god, and the ax doesn't go off flying.

"Daryl! You surprised me."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I thought I'd chop down some fire wood," Glenn replies. Daryl looks up at his tree, letting out a low whistle.

"A tree like that'll last us a while," but there is a note of sarcasm in Daryl's words and Glenn recognizes it well.

"Well, good! Then let me do this."

"Can't. You know how long it'll take for you to chop down a tree that tall?  And by the way you swing, it'll take twice as long."

"Look. I get it that you don't like--"

"Besides," Daryl cuts him off. "You should be looking for dry wood, something dead or close to it, not cutting down the entire damned forest."

Glenn winces at Daryl's words. It is true he knows jack-shit about surviving in the woods. If it weren't for this apocalypse or whatever it should be called, he would be sitting in his apartment, trying to beat Skyrim and texting his friends while waiting for delivery pizza and ice cold beer. But it isn't happening and he has to live this way now. The ax slips out of his grip, and hits the ground. The throbbing isn't from Daryl's words. It's in his chest. His knees stumble and he's sure he's falling.

He thinks he hears Daryl calling his name, but then, he’s sure that Daryl doesn't care to know it.

...tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry it took me months to post this! Work is very busy, very very busy.  
> I'll try harder to post more often but I can't promise anything.  
> But, I hope you enjoyed this short chapter. :)  
> Additional tags will be edited as the story goes along.


	3. Stood on a Hill Only to Scream

Daryl leans back into the pile of dry wood. He's aware of the bigger smudge he's made on his forehead, swiping the back of his hand over the sweaty skin, but he doesn't care. The sky is an eerie grey and clouds thick with rain has covered the sun. It's better, Daryl thinks; he would rather have rain down his back than the scorching Georgia sun. After catching his breath, he rekindles the fire, getting ready for supper. He's gotten used to the circle of people, doing his part, watching others to do their parts, and he thinks, maybe, mutually gaining a bit of trust. 

Especially after the few days ago. 

He had only meant to... wait. What had he meant to do? He'd just seen the kid carrying an ax too big for his skinny arms into the woods. It'd been hot, the sun shining bright and burning against exposed skin. The kid had no water on him, and curiosity had just moved him along, trailing him. Daryl had taken his crossbow; he always did. Maybe he could have said, hey, I'm just tracking a doe, a rabbit, a raccoon... He hadn't meant to startle him, or make fun of him. It just spills out of his mouth, words he doesn't mean, like most of the time. Maybe (just a small bit of maybe) he had wanted to get to know the kid better. 

When Glenn fell to the ground, clutching his chest, Daryl had thought the worse, hand gripping the knife at his belt on instinct. Glenn had become unconscious by the time his head had decided to join in the game. He had fed Glenn water first. Then he'd pinched the lids open to see those dark eyes, even though he hadn't been sure what he would be searching for. He'd hefted the kid's arm over his shoulder. A little ways down, Glenn had woken, whimpering and asking him to let go. 

"Shut up," Daryl had grunted at him. Glenn had silenced at that, managing to walk on his legs, arm still over Daryl's shoulders. It had taken long, Daryl clutching the kid by the arm and at his waist, trying to listen for the tell-tale growling and animal-like steps of Walkers, and at the same time dividing his attention to the kid, his too-warm skin, ragged breathing, and paled face. 

At the edge of the camp, he had seen the RV first and Dale standing there with his ready rifle. Daryl had caught the old man's attention, who climbed down the RV. He had hurried over, opening up Glenn's tent so Daryl can deposit him inside. 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know," Daryl said. Then he added, "I was gonna go hunting... Saw him... And he fell over..." 

Dale had looked unconvinced, but checked Glenn for any cuts or bruises, and worse, for bites. 

Daryl had studied the kid, then the camp, which looked empty; everyone had gone down by the pool to get away from the heat. There had been grating snores coming from the general direction of his shared tent with Merle. 

"He ain't bit." Daryl had said. 

"I can see that." 

"I didn't--" 

"I wasn't implying that." Dale had given him a stern look. "Could you get a towel and a bucket of water, please?" 

Daryl had stood by as the old man soaked and wrung the towel, placing it over the kid's forehead. "Looks like the heat got the best of him." 

Daryl had wanted to refute, but he had understood. There was something wrong with Glenn. Dale was leaving it at this and so was he. 

There had been nothing else for him to do about this. He wasn't a doctor and knew nothing about remedies, except stitching up his own skin or setting his own broken bones. So he had slung his crossbow over his shoulder and said, "I'll take watch." 

A bit of trust had been earned. Not in any grand way, saving lives and being a hero. He had done what he had thought was right, and Dale had given him a nod. The others all accepted the heat stroke as Glenn laid in his tent that night. He'd gotten up the next morning, but remained mostly quiet. He had sat on the RV taking watch. Daryl had gone out to hunt though his head had been back at the camp, and returned in the evening empty handed. 

Daryl gets up, wondering about the clouds overhead. He asks Jim if there is tarmac or a tent no one is using so the dry wood can be covered up. Jim looks up from the engine part he's tinkering with, notes the sky, and digs through the stuff he keeps in the trunk of his broken down car. He hands over the car cover, and ends up helping Daryl fit the fabric over the pile of wood. Daryl only guesses the others, too, have seen him do something for the group other than bring in a string of woodland creatures. Carol and her girl brings over a pot full of stew. The woman gives him a smile so small he thinks he's imagined it. All the people gather around, the ones who are sharing the supper tonight. Daryl takes a portion over to Merle. Merle grunts something over its content, but his eyelids are half-way shut, coming off a potent high. He leaves his brother, zipping up the tent behind him. Back at the camp fire, he takes the only empty seat, which happens to be next to Glenn. 

Daryl doesn't ask if he's alright. He's functioning, talking, even laughing at the corny jokes. Though in the darkness, Daryl can see the kid is fidgeting, his hand massaging his arm. Daryl remembers his neighbor, Ol' Jonesy, who had survived three heart attacks. He'd always done that, too, messaging his left arm, said it helps with the circulation. Daryl's eyes narrow at the memory. 

"Hey, kid--" he starts, but roaring thunder drowns out what he wants to say. The group moves quickly, gathering up things and heading under shelter. 

Daryl contemplates on going back to his tent, but it won't be an easy night with Merle. Glenn is helping the girls. For a moment, he looks at Daryl, as if he knows what's on his mind. Daryl gathers his crossbow and the lawn chair he'd been occupying all night. He waits for three seconds until Glenn fixes his cap and heads toward his small tent. Daryl swallows a heavy one before stalking up to the RV. He asks Dale if he doesn't mind him taking watch. He takes notice of Dale glancing towards Glenn's tent. Dale pats his shoulder. 

The night is quiet, but for the rhythm of the heavy rain hitting the metal top of the RV, the gathered drops falling from the tips of the umbrella over his head. It's calming; the scent of rain, the thickness of the woods stretched by the water, the way his heart beats to the rhythm of water falling in to the dent next to his boot. Daryl doesn't think about anything, has stopped counting the solid ping of slow drops beside his foot. The last time it had rained this hard, he'd been waiting. He still won't admit he'd waited on the kid. He would have waited for anyone else, too. It doesn't make sense, why he thinks about the kid so much. That's all he is; just a kid. He's seen and known plenty of them his whole life, so what the hell is the difference? Just another kid... 

A kid who is too kind and smart, though still naïve because of the kindness. A kid who is nothing like him. Nothing like the kids he's known ever, with similar backgrounds and southern breeding. A kid who hadn't known how to find north until Daryl had told him. A kid who smiles widely, infecting his mouth into a twitch, maybe one day, spreading that wholly to him, to make him smile, too. 

Yeah. Just another kid. 

Daryl puts out his hand, letting the water drops pool in the curved plane of his palm. The rain will stop soon. The sun will come out eventually. These are the things that are still facts. He'll get down from the RV soon. He'll go hunting or finding other work to do around the camp. They'll have to think about moving soon. They'll have to check if it's safe. But for now, as long as rain is falling, he will let himself wonder about the kid without reprimand. Just until the rain stops...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait (for anyone who was waiting for this?). I am posting 2 chapters tonight. :)  
> and I changed my alias. Hope there's no confusion. :)


	4. Pick Up a Gun

Glenn massages his shoulder, clenching his hand over and over again. It's not a feeling he isn't used to. It just aches a lot more these days. He can't even sleep when he feels this way. He contemplates, taking a bottle out of his backpack he's hidden under some clothes. He's stuffed more cotton inside so the pills don't rattle. It's not the sort he can pass off as vitamin. He knows his body better than anyone else. He's been saving them because the last two times down in Atlanta had not been so successful in finding them. He digs two pills out, swallowing them with some water. It calms him down enough and his chest feels better after a few minutes. 

He needs to find them now. He's planned to go through to a different part of the city. The hospital is at the center of the thick Walker population and there is no way he'd make it. He can try a smaller town, maybe something near the highway, but knowing Georgia, there is nothing. It isn't as easy anymore as quickly typing in to online search engines for the closest pharmacy. And he can't call ahead to see if they have the right type of medicine. 

He's barely slept at all but he's jittery about the whole thing. He ties up his sneakers, drawing out a map in his head. He'd mostly cleaned out the one pharmacy on Boulevard. Atlanta has a highway that circles the city. He can only run so much in between jammed cars as hiding spots. He can also try to enter through a different part of the city, but he needs a car. No one will lend him one. He just has to run a little, try to see if he can hot wire one on the way or get lucky with the key still in the ignition. He empties out his backpack but for the pills (someone might find it while he's gone), his map and a small notebook. He would ask for a gun if anyone could spare one; but he won't. His feet are fast enough. 

The sun is slowly coming up. The air is still cool and moist from the rain; it's better to run while it's tolerable rather than in the heat. He'd had time to observe if the heat affects the geeks. It doesn't. He grabs his canteen, filled last night. There are a few energy bars in his pack for these runs. 

"Where're you running off to?" 

The ragged voice startles him. 

"I'm going down to Atlanta. A run." Glenn shakes his empty pack. 

"You've gone a week ago. What else do we need?" 

"I don't know. I'll be back before dark." 

Glenn shrugs, readying to go down the dirt road. 

"Get in the truck." Daryl commands. 

"What? Why?" 

Daryl doesn't give him an answer. The truck bed is all empty. It'll be the two of them, trying to go salvage some things. Glenn needs to do this alone. He's thinking up excuses to do so but nothing makes sense. He'll just have to separate from Daryl when they get to the city. The truck is old and smells damp inside. It's a manual transmission, meaning he won't be able to drive them back if anything happens. He has to hold the crossbow on his lap. It's heavier than he'd thought. The thick rumbling engine starts up, the whole cab vibrating. It wakes Dale up (or he'd already been up, now he's out of the RV) and he walks up to them. 

"What's wrong?" Dale asks them. 

"We're going to Atlanta. Supply run." Glenn tells him. Dale studies him, and then Daryl, and the crossbow across his lap. 

"Well, you be careful, Glenn." 

"Don't worry." Glenn thinks his smile is ineffective in convincing Dale.

\--- 

 

Daryl pulls the truck in an underpass just outside of Atlanta. From here it's all abandoned cars and Walkers from random points. They have to be stealthy and they need to keep quiet. Glenn pulls out the map, trying to find exactly where they were and what roads are the best to take. Thanks to Daryl he'd gotten here faster than anticipated. He can maybe hit two or three of the bigger pharmacies to try to find as much as he can; if he can find them. He'd put big X marks on the locations he'd already searched through. He'd marked off the ones he'd seen but couldn't get to. Now they are at the west of the city as opposed to the south, the only road he'd known to take to get in since it was closer. He has to find new ones. It might take longer than he likes. 

Glenn traces the roads, sharing his plan with Daryl. 

"We'll take this road here. Through College Park. It was pretty empty but it may not be. If we're cut off, we go up, and west. Here." 

Daryl looks at him incredulously. "You lives near here?" 

"No. North of Atlanta. Just for the summer. Why?" 

"Nothing. Lead the way, little man." 

Glenn does. Daryl keeps up with him, even with that heavy crossbow over his shoulder. It's hot so Glenn tries to stay near the buildings, under the shadows. They can duck into one of them easier if there are a lot of Walkers. Daryl seems to understand and they make it up five blocks. Glenn has to stop at the corner, locating a local pharmacy. It had a glass door, all broken now and looks like there is nothing left inside. He would go in there if he's alone. He puts it into his mind's map, just in case, and takes a turn. 

"Where're we goin'?" 

"A pharmacy. One that doesn't look so picked out." 

"Ain't gonna find one around here." 

"How do you know?" 

"I used to live here." 

Glenn spares the moment to give Daryl a confused stare. "You could have told me this earlier." 

"Could have." Daryl shrugs, taking the lead. 

Glenn follows Daryl who seems to know where everything is. He often catches Daryl looking at a house, a car, a pizza shop; all places he's familiar with, has a story attached to, and had known the people who lived and worked there. But he doesn't talk about them. Glenn doesn't ask. 

"Here we go." 

There is a large shopping center, a big sign by the car entrance listing the names of shops. A big pharmacy chain store in big red letters catch Glenn's eyes. 

"Is this okay or do you need a special brand?" 

"This is great." 

The door isn't locked either. It's a mess but there are things he can definitely take. Daryl suggests they look around for any Walkers. Glenn holds out the bat. They make their way around the store. He is fearful but doesn't show it. A rotting smell creeps up as he's walking down the end aisle. It's dark inside without lights burning. He comes to a dead cat, flesh chewed away. A few soft steps and Daryl is beside him. 

"Looks like cats don't got nine lives." Glenn looks at Daryl's face. He has a smirk; maybe it's a private joke. Glenn doesn't share his enthusiasm. 

"Is it clear?" 

"Yeah. The neighborhood was always packed with kids and old folks. But now..." Daryl doesn't finish. 

"Let's hurry." 

Glenn grabs whatever they need. Toilet paper, soap, toothpaste, isopropyl alcohol, whatever he sees. Daryl is hoisting up the bow but doesn't grab much. He makes it to the back, to the pharmacy. The half door is locked. Daryl kicks it open. 

"You got a chronic problem I should know about?" 

"No. I'm just... looking for pain killers and antibiotics." 

The shelves have bottles labeled with chemical names. He will have to go through each. They're grouped by what kind they are, what they are used for. He also knows the rarity of a pharmacy carrying certain kinds of pills. He's looking through bottles that don't make sense. Until Daryl grabs his arm, shoving him into the tall shelf. Bottles clatter down, rolling and spinning on the linoleum. 

"Tell me the truth." 

"I am telling you the truth." 

"You ain't a pharmacist and I know a user when I see one. You tell me the truth or I shoot you in the head. No one will miss you." 

The hold tightens around his arm. Daryl's hand is big and cuts off circulation. Glenn tries to free himself from the grasp but he's weaker. He may be able to out run him if it came to that, but Daryl has a bow. And a gun. His arm hurts to the point where his eyes water. 

"Beta blockers," he blurts out. "Calcium channel blockers or digoxin." 

Daryl's brows scrunch at the unfamiliarity. 

"Metoprolol and atenolol, if they're here. Verapamil, propefanone, quinidine, procainamide, disopyramide..." 

"What the fuck?" 

Daryl lets him go. Glenn rubs at his arm. There is that chill and the slow aching in his muscles, the tightness of his chest as his heart races. Glenn looks up at the cold eyes. "I need antiarrhythmic medicine to live." 

Daryl may or may not have understood, but his face changes. Glenn pulls the strap of his backpack up, straightening himself. He goes around the corner, scanning the bottles. Daryl is near him, but not threatening. He explains the best he can. 

"I was born with it; an abnormal heart. I've had two surgeries but it still didn't help." He sighs at the bottles. "My heart sometimes gets really fast, without a trigger. The beats are abnormal. I can get by most days. I can even do normal activities, like running or binge drinking." 

At that Daryl manages half a smile. 

"When it gets bad though, I need beta blockers to slow down my heart rate. Or I faint or get nauseous and dizzy." 

"What happens..?" 

"If I don't take them? I don't know. I'm trying to prevent anything from happening. So I'm... Hunting." 

Glenn shuffles through another shelf. 

"How about Viagra? Isn't that for the heart?" Daryl joking makes the situation lighter. Glenn fizzes out a tired laughter. "If you need some go ahead. But it looks like you found the blood medications." 

He opens up the bottle of metoprolol, taking inventory with his eyes. It's half full with decent shelf life. He also takes the bottle of Tenormin. They should last him half a year if nothing goes wrong. He's survived this long; he intends to keep surviving. Daryl is shifting along the bottles. He pockets one. Glenn stares at him. 

"Doxycycline. For Merle." 

"Oh." 

Daryl clears his throat. "Sorry, about..." He gestures with his hand to his arm. 

"It's okay." 

They weave their way out of the pharmacy, grabbing whatever salvageable food there are. They get plenty of things and Glenn is happy. The way back to the truck isn't as clear as when they got to the shopping center. When Daryl shoots a geek down with his bow, Glenn fights off another with his bat. He tries to remain calm, trying to not make so much noise. Another swing and the Walker is down. He smashes its head in for good measure. Daryl has taken care of the rest. Four of them. They break into a jog, staying near buildings. Daryl stops at a corner. He points and Glenn sees about twenty Walkers, gawking at nothing, drooling and coming towards them. Daryl leads the way down a small alley. It turns into another and another and Glenn is totally lost. 

They wait behind a fence gate, looking around for a group. The day is hot now, some time past noon. At least the sun isn't too startling in the shadow of the tall building. 

"What do we do?" 

"I can't see where all the geeks are. Need to get up higher." 

Daryl goes back down and through a different alley. The hot air and the running makes Glenn's heart race. His ears are ringing when Daryl stops at a metal door. Daryl removes a random brick from the side of the door. He pulls out a key. He smirks at Glenn and opens the door. It's an emergency staircase. The battery powered wall lights are still on. Daryl goes up and Glenn follows. 

"How did you know about the key in the brick?" 

"Because I put it there." 

Glenn doesn't press. This looks like an apartment building, feels and smells like one, too. It could be Daryl's but it may not be. Glenn just follows him until they get to the very top. He struggles to breathe after the non stop ten flights of stairs. Daryl opens the door with the same key. It opens to the roof top. Glenn looks around and sits before fainting. It's not the tallest building but he can see the skyline of the center city, the rows of houses and buildings all around. He spots the underpass where the truck is parked. Daryl looks down on the streets. He stomps around the entire square rooftop before plopping down next to Glenn. 

"We're not surrounded. We can make it down to the truck if we're quick and quiet." 

"Let's go then." 

"We need rest." 

Glenn bites his cheeks. "Look. Just because I told you I'm sick, it doesn't mean I can't run and stuff. I'm fine. I don't want to be treated like I'm permanently damaged and can't take care of myself. I don't need to be looked after or--" 

"I wasn't talking about you, dumb-ass." 

Daryl pulls up the leg of his jeans with a grimace. The bandage he'd given him that time is still on the cut, dyed with the color of old blood. Daryl peels it off slowly. The cut he'd seen before is purple and black. The discoloration looks abnormal. Glenn holds back a gasp. He quickly digs into his bag for the rubbing alcohol he'd grabbed. Daryl pours a little over it, hissing, and some more. He'd remembered to get his hands on as much first aid supplies he could find. He pulls those out, handing them all to Daryl. Daryl gives him half a smirk, going through the handful. Daryl just covers up the mess on his leg with a piece of gauze. 

"Got any water?" 

Glenn hands him the canteen. It's still full. Daryl takes the doxycycline. "It's an infection. I had one before when I was little. This one I got cut on rusted fence wire trying to get out of Atlanta." 

"Daryl..." 

"I'm not going to say anything about your--" 

"Arrhythmia." 

"Yeah. Even when I thought you was on dope I wasn't gonna say nothing. Ain't my problem." 

"Thanks. I guess." 

"Don't say nothing about this, neither. People are going to think it's a bite or something. It could get ugly." 

"I understand." 

"Do you?" Daryl asks, face hardened. 

"Yeah. People... Well, most people judge you based on the way it appears to be even when it's not." 

Daryl nods. He leans back against the short wall of the roof top. He looks serene and calm, his hair shining flecks of gold in the light. Glenn studies the older man, the way he is not what he thought he would be like. Not at all. He's attractive, sort of. Women would be into him by his face, maybe the shoulders, definitely the muscles, and probably get turned off by the way he shoots off cuss words and insults. Glenn kind of likes that Daryl says whatever he wants to; especially to Shane who sometimes gets a bit too bossy. Daryl had actually noticed something off about him, too; enough to come down here on pure instinct. No one else had seen him trying to hide the pain and the uncomfortable heart beats. Daryl had. Just like when he had waited in the rain. 

"Thanks." Glenn says, unsure if Daryl hears it or not. They stay on the rooftop until Daryl says it's time to go. They safely make it to the truck without running into any Walkers. Inside the cab, Daryl hands him the bottle of pills. 

"Don't want Merle to find it. Hold on to that for me." 

"Yeah, sure. Of course." 

"And this." Daryl hands him a gun, heavy and loaded. "Don't want Merle to find that either." 

He puts it in the side pocket of his pack, making sure the safety is on. The air in the truck is more relaxing than when they set out this morning. Maybe it's because he's found medication. Maybe it's because Daryl has promised to keep his secret. Whatever it may be, it makes him more confident. His heart beats strong and paced. He has two things belonging to Daryl. Maybe it's because he trusts him a little more. He doesn't know what he's done to earn this trust. 

\--- 

 

Glenn is startled awake by rustling outside his tent. His is set up near Morales' big one and T-Dog's. He hopes it isn't a geek. It's in the middle of the night. And it's cold. He waits a little more, shivering under the single blanket he has for himself. There is a low cough and throat clearing. Glenn gets up, unzipping his tent. 

"Daryl?" His voice is hoarse and low. 

"I--Uh..." Daryl digs the toes of his boot into the ground beneath him. The laces are undone, as if he's shoved his feet into them in a hurry. He doesn't have a shirt, only his jeans. But he has his crossbow. Glenn finds his heart beating fast, the uncomfortable skip of beat between the third, the fourth... 

"Do you want to come in for a second?" 

Daryl doesn't reply but he crawls into the small tent. Glenn shoves his stuff to make room. He watches Daryl close the flap, because night bugs and mosquitos are flying in. Glenn sleepily scratches his arm. Daryl is biting down on his thumbnail. It's a habit of his Glenn has noticed. 

"How's your leg?" Glenn asks. 

"Better. The doxycycline helped." Daryl's eyes shine even in the darkness. He meets his gaze. His heart skips another beat, and another. 

"You alright?" 

"Yeah." The silence remains after that. Glenn can't keep his eyes opened any longer. He lays back down, the blanket twisting around his body. He can feel Daryl's breathing, the woodsy musk of his skin. The tent is small and they are close together, closer than they'd been even in Daryl's truck. It doesn't feel uncomfortable, having someone else near him as he drifts into sleep. He thinks a warm hand lays over his chest, where his heart beats, skips, beat and skips. It may be a dream; something his mother used to do in the night after a particularly bad day. And it must be a dream; the warmth of the hand is over his throat, over his lips, his nose, his shut eyes, in his hair and over his ear. Yes, it must be a dream. 

His heart skips another beat. In the morning, Glenn wakes up warm, refreshed. Daryl isn't in the tent, and the flap is closed. He takes a moment to survey his tent. His things are still piled into the corner. That sweet musk remains in the air. Glenn's lips twitch into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this story is finally moving on! :)
> 
> I'm a layman when it comes to anything medical. So I have researched as thoroughly as I could (but probably not enough). Any qualms about anything please feel free to let me know!! :)


	5. So Empty, So Estranged

Glenn knows he’s going to die.  The arms and hands press him down, suffocating, covering his eyes.  The voices yell in Spanish.  The car is making turns, over-used tires squealing on the dry-hot asphalt.  He knows he’s going to die today.  Well, it might as well be today.  Because horrible things have happened.  He certainly hadn’t wanted to leave Merle.  He was getting out of control.  The only thing he could think had been, _it was fine when I came out on my own_.  And that time with Daryl..  Daryl… Merle…

“I—I can’t… help… can’t… breathe… please…”

The heavy hand lifts a bit, but keeps his eyes covered.  Glenn can make out some of the English words they are using with the too fast to follow Spanish.  Something about guns.  Some guy called Miguel.  A medication name he recognizes.

“I have… them…  In my bag…”  Glenn starts.  The voices stop.  “I have metoprolol…  In my bag…”

“Why do you have—“

“Shut up, Felipe!”

“I have them…” Glenn tries again.  He needs to get the guy’s attention.

“You don’t have your bag.”

Oh yeah, Glenn remembers.  Daryl, after freaking out over the hand on the roof, had put it in his bag.  He’d left it in the room where they’d made their plan to get the bag of guns.  He’d needed to be quick.  Daryl had had his back.  _Daryl_ …  He’d screamed his name.  _Daryl, help_ …

The car stops.  He’s lead into a big warehouse.  He’s hoping at least they’ll shoot him in the head.  He really does not want to reanimate as a walker.  There are more voices.

The day before, he’d woken up with a smile.  He had tried sleep.  The list of things he needs to get for the morning had been crumpled in his pocket.  Heart had kept skipping every other beat.  He’d gone outside for some water to try to ease it away.  The moon had been so big, round and glowing, illuminating every surface it touched.  And by the dying embers of their small fire, Daryl had been standing, watching the forest, maybe.  Or the brightly lit sky.  He’d gotten water first then made way towards him slowly.  Daryl hadn’t looked over at him.  But he’d known.  And he, too, had known that Daryl noticed him, even with his sights towards the deep dark blue sky.

Two strong hands grab him by both arms.  He’s lead to the back of the warehouse, through a yard into another building.  As soon as he’s inside, voices call out for Felipe, the guy who’d been holding him down in the car.  Felipe lets him go to tend to the elderly woman.  He’s taken to what looks like a break room for the staff.  He is tied down to a chair.  The knots aren’t very tight though, only enough to hold him there.

He’d stood across the fire, watching Daryl watching the moon.  He’d stood a long time, studying the expression on Daryl’s face.  His expression had been like it will be the last moon he would see, last calm night, like right at this moment the world hasn’t gone to shit.  And Glenn had stood there, unable to speak, feeling his heart skip beats.  There hadn’t been pain in those intervals.

“They’ll come looking for him,” a new voice says, just outside the door. 

“They’ve got the bag of guns.”

“We need those guns.”

“This kid,” it’s Felipe’s voice.  “He says he’s got heart medicine.”

His heart gets faster.  He doesn’t want to provoke.  He speaks slowly, loud enough to get their attention.  “We’re not bad people.  Please, whatever you need from us.  I can help.”

They ignore him, but one of them glance his way.

Then Daryl’s eyes had looked down on him.  Those eyes lighter, not so angry… or scared.  One, two… One… One…

“I’m not scared of dying.  I’ve been dying since the day I was born.  This heart…  It’s been killing me since I’ve been born.  So there is no fear of death in me.  But I want to help...  Dary-- They’ll come for me.  They’ll have my pack.  I have metoprolol in there…”

The guy comes over, perching on the table beside him.

“What’s your name, man?”

‘Glenn…’

“Glenn.”

One…  One, two, three… One… Two…

“You’re willing to give up your meds to some old folks to save yourself?  Save your friends?”

“No…  If they need them…  It sounds urgent.  They need them more than I do.  I can get more.”

“Tell me about your group.  Tell me honestly.”

Daryl’s mouth had been softer, jaws less hardened, arms folded over his chest…  Had there been some night birds or insects singing in the forest?  He’d not heard anything else but his heart beating in his ears…  And Daryl’s low husky voice.  ‘Be careful tomorrow.’  One, two…  ‘Come back.. in one piece…’

The guy unties him as a woman brings a steaming mug into the room.  She hands Glenn the mug, saying, it’s tea.

Glenn starts.  “Most of the group I’m with are families, with kids…  I came down with three guys…  One is a Sheriff, a volunteer church van driver, and…  my friend…  Daryl…  who was with me when I was taken from the alley…  We were looking for his brother, Merle…”

 

\---

 

Daryl rubs at the spot on his arm where the needle pierced, draining blood out of his system.  His eyes scan the room.  It looks like a small auditorium, with the big white projection screen, chairs set up all around.  He stops at Rick.  The sight makes him scoff.  Rick has his arm over the back of Lori's chair, the other hand on Carl's head.  If it hadn't been for this sonofabitch, Merle--  Daryl shakes his head.  There's no need to delve back into that.  He has seen it for himself.  He has picked up Merle's hand, sawed off and left there on the hot rooftop to bake.  He can't change the past events, like he can't stitch back up the severed hand.  He moves on to Shane, leaning back into his chair, eyes drilling a hole at the back of Rick’s head.  Shane is bitter because Rick's plan worked.  The CDC is still functioning, despite lacking, well, people, and they can at least sleep easy tonight without having to keep one eye open.

They stop at Glenn.  Glenn is rubbing his shoulder, breathing in and out slowly.  Daryl's eyes narrow at the sight.  He leans forward to ask in a low voice, "You alright?"

Glenn just nods.

Daryl had wanted to yell and scream, thrash at anyone who had come close to him at the camp.  Then he'd seen the way Glenn was wringing his hands around the handle of the ratty baseball cap.  Glenn hadn't volunteered to go back with them.  He had not wanted him to come either.  But they'd gone, the four of them.  And Glenn had asked him to stick with him.  At the window, Daryl had taken a moment while Rick and T-Dog went down to get to the opposite block down the street.  'You really up for this?'

'Yeah.  It's the least I can do.'

'Why did you-- you know?' Daryl had gestured towards the room, the sawed-off hand in Glenn's pack.

'I have nothing to lose.'

'Neither do I...' He had mumbled but Glenn had clearly heard him.

And Glenn had given him this apologetic smile.  And... 'Besides, I'm faster than you, old man.'  And had climbed out the window.

Things had gone wrong then.  (No.  Things had gone wrong when this _thing_ broke out but he’s stopped thinking about it.)

Merle had given him a long speech about helping that _boy_ , he called him, and bringing nothing good back for his older brother.  Daryl had replied, I didn't do it for _him_.  He did it so they can save time on bringing things back for the whole group.  He'd filled up the truck with gas on the way back.  Merle had crashed his fist across his face.  'Don't you talk back to me, _boy_.  Don't you forget who _they_ are, and who we are.'

'And who are _we_ , Merle?'

'We, lil' brother, are the people who will take all of this as our own.'

Daryl had tasted blood in his mouth.  Merle'd never known how to hold back a punch.

'What if I say, I think we need these people.  To survive?'

'Then I say, you are still the little coward _boy_ you’ve always been.'

The next week, in the morning as Glenn got ready to go down to Atlanta once again, the older blonde sister had suggested she go down with him.  Glenn had protested, 'Andrea, no, I'm fine on my own.'  But like always, no one had heard him.  With everyone volunteering, Merle could not just stay quiet.  He'd boomed out he'd go as well, just to keep everyone in check, whatever that meant.  While every person stood saying whatever they wanted, not listening to each other, Daryl'd seen Glenn staring at his face; the remainder of the bruise on his cheekbone.  So he'd picked up his crossbow and murmured he'd go hunting.  He hadn't wanted Glenn to see the meaning of that.

When he'd gotten back, everything was wrong.  Everything. 

And now...  Here.  The CDC.  It still doesn't feel _right_.  He can't put his finger on it. 

 

\---

 

Despite what people think, Daryl won’t say no to a hot shower.  Hot stream over his head, down his back loosens away all the taut stress from his muscles.  But still, he doesn’t bother with it for long.  Everything the doctor says sounds like warnings, but no one else seems to be picking up on them.  He wanders the rooms, trying to find Jenner.

‘Are you crazy?  You’re giving them all you’ve got?’

‘I promised.  I can find more.. Later.  They need them.’

In the end, Glenn had only kept a few pills for himself.  He’d shaken his head at the kid but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit impressed.

Daryl finds Jenner in a room lit dimly; his office.

“Hey, doc, got a sec?”

“Sure, what can I help you with?”

“Got any medication here?”

Jenner gives him a long look.  Daryl knows what this may look like.  He bites down on his nail.

“I have some aspirin.”

“I just…  It’s not for me.  It’s for…  arrhyth…— A heart condition.”

“Arrhythmia?”

“Yeah.  Anything.  Even if it’s just…”

“Who’s it for?”

Daryl locks his jaw tight.  Jenner’s face relaxes.  “It’s for Glenn, am I right?”

“Look! I ain’t—“ He pauses.  “Do you got something or not?”

“Let me go take a look.  Stay here.”

About ten minutes later, Jenner comes back with three bottles.  “He should know what those are.  They should last… half a year or so.  If he… You… make it that far…”

Daryl’s eyes narrow at that.  He snatches them from the doctor’s hand.  “Thanks.”

He finds Glenn in the room he’s chosen, shaking out the water from his hair.  Glenn is smiling.  Daryl doesn’t knock before entering.  He tosses the bottles at him.  Glenn stares at him for a whole minute before looking down at each label.

“Did you get these from…”

“Put ‘em away before someone finds ‘em.”

“Thank you… Daryl.”  Glenn stuffs them into his pack.

“And…  Don’t unpack.  I’m not really sure about this place.  Be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

Glenn’s mouth twitches.  “I will.”

Daryl turns to go back to his room.  He shouldn’t, but the words come out.  It must be the alcohol finally getting to his head.  “Don’t…  Don’t do it again!”  His voice is loud in his ears.  “Helping people you hardly know…  Sacrificing yourself…  Don’t…!”

“Daryl!  I won’t.”  Glenn puts his hands up.  “I…  Good night.  Thank you..”

Daryl returns to his room without replying.  The ceiling is spinning above him.  He certainly did not have to do this for…  Why does he care?  He doesn’t…  He just… needs Glenn to be around like he needs a bolt or his gun.  Yeah, that must be it.  He needs an ally in this..  Someone who’s just as alone in this world as he is.  He won’t think about it again.  He passes out on the couch, deep sleep flooding his body.

 

\---

 

Daryl wants to say, I told you so.  But he is too busy trying to break open the door to this goddamn room.  The doctor has crazy in his eyes; Daryl had felt it.  Now they are facing the ultimate countdown to death without being given a choice.  A chance.  He screams as the ax refuses to make even a dent against the thick metal.  He’d had a choice.  Yeah.  He should have taken the truck and Merle’s bike and gone the other way, away from this group, at that crossroad off the quarry.  That had been a chance and he wouldn’t be in this now.  He should have followed his instinct and not trust a guy who’s just showed up to act like he’s the boss.  He should have spoken up.  He should have grabbed Glenn and…

The ax slips out of his hand.

Then the door opens.  Whatever Rick’s said works.  He rushes everyone back to their rooms, to grab whatever stuff they can.  He grabs his pack and crossbow and he’s already running for the exit.  Glenn is quickly behind him.  Glenn had never unpacked.

He should have gone that other way…  He should have… 

 

\---

 

Glenn is glad he’s chosen to climb into Daryl’s truck.

After the CDC building exploded, all of them taking cover against the worst way to die inside the RV, Daryl had put a hand over his shoulder, lightly squeezing.  His ears were numb and eyes watered.  The remnants of the explosion swirled around in the air, leaving them wondering if they were all still alive.  His people were screaming they needed to get out of there.  Glenn had been in agreement except he just couldn’t move.  His chest felt like it was caving in, back muscles stiffening.  He’d bit down hard against the pain and the scream that threatened to fight out of his throat.  Then a rough hand had grabbed him by his arm, out of the RV.  He had been shouting his name.  Glenn had climbed into the truck.

They follow the RV behind T-dog’s van.  Daryl is gnawing at his nail, wrist resting on the handle, fingers drumming on the dash.  Daryl clears his throat after about ten miles of driving silently.

“There’s water under the seat.”

Glenn reaches down.  There are three full bottles.  He hands one to Daryl.

“Nah.  I’m alright.  But you should…  You look like…”

“I’m fine.”

“Your… condition…”

“I’m fine now.  Really.  It was the shock.  I’m better now.”

It remains silent until they come to a stop at an empty gas station.  People gather by the RV to talk.  Glenn and Daryl wait in the truck.  It looks like Rick and Shane are yelling at each other, T-dog and Dale between them.  And even though he’s been saying he’s fine, he is not.  He doesn’t want to, but he can’t sit here and pretend that his heart doesn’t feel like it’ll explode out of his chest.

“My pack…  My pack is in Dale’s RV.  The pills…”  A sudden rush inside his chest makes Glenn claw at his skin.  “Daryl…”

Daryl is already out of the truck.  The others glance at him, watching for his actions; maybe to jump into the argument or to stop the men’s fighting.  But he goes straight up to Dale, who nods after a moment.  Daryl goes into the RV and is out in a second with his and Glenn’s packs and his crossbow.  He marches back to the truck without a single glance back.  No one pays attention to them after, voices rising again.  He seems to know where to look because he’s digging into the deepest part of the pack, pulling the bottle out.  After about ten minutes, the medicine seems to be working.  Glenn shuts his eyes against the bright sunset. 

“What are they…” Glenn pauses.  “Are we going to camp here tonight?”

“Maybe.  It’s getting dark.  Might have to..”

He rubs the back of his neck.  It’s hot.  After a blissful night of air conditioning and hot shower, it’ll take some time to get used to always being too hot and too sweaty; again.  His pulse is calmer.  Breathing doesn’t hurt anymore.  It looks like the yelling’s done.  But they’re walking circles around each other.

“If we…  I mean…  If you and I left…  right now…  Or if…  If I’d chosen to go off on my own at the quarry…  I could have…”

Daryl looks at him.  His mouth quirks slightly.

“Would you?”  Daryl asks him.

Glenn doesn’t understand the question.

“Would you go?  If I said, we should go off on our own, start again, that it’s not too late.  Would you..?”

Glenn considers it.  Not the answer itself, but how to phrase it.  Because in all honesty, there is only one answer to this question.

“Yes.” Glenn says.  Daryl’s mouth draws a fleeting smile.  “Yeah, I would trust you and go with you.”

It looks like they are done their argument and T-dog is walking over.

“Hey, you okay Glenn?”  T-dog looks in.

“Yeah, I just.. I hit my head during explosion in the RV and had a headache.  I’m good now.  What’s going on?”

“Rick and Dale think we can hole up in one of the houses down that way for the night.  First thing tomorrow we’ll find fuel and supplies.  Then we’re heading for Fort Benning.”

Daryl nods, starting up the engine.  They follow the RV and van down an empty road.  There is a sign for an intersection up ahead.  Glenn doesn’t say it but he knows they are thinking the same thought.  We could veer away now and they won’t be able to stop us.  Right now, we could wave farewell and go our separate ways.  In silence, they drive past the intersection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. :)
> 
> I got my wind back for writing. It took me awhile to decide on the way to take this fic. It was either go all AU after quarry or keep to canon-AU. Chose the latter because I had to watch the earlier episodes again and remembered I really do love the TWD story. So it'll be sort of filler.. like stuff that were left out of the eps, in a Darlenn kind of way.
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your nice comments in the previous chapters! I don't reply each one because I noticed that the comments count goes up with each reply. And for some folks who look to them as a way to choose a fic to read, I don't want any one to feel 'cheated' into reading this and then be disappointed. BUT! I do read all of your comments! Feel all of your kudos. And I love them!! Seriously, Thank you! They drive me on to write more and do better!!


	6. Faltering

They’re wasting time and they’re lost.  Daryl huffs into his arm to get dirt out of his nose.  They’ve been on the road for hours, days and there’s nothing.  They’re going around in circles, it feels like.  Not any closer to Fort Benning, he mumbles.  The bike is better than the old truck, even if it’s Merle’s.  He gets wind in his hair.  Less gas to syphon for his ride.

There is less food to be salvaged.  What Daryl thinks is they need to get farther from where all the people have been in.  Less cars jamming up the road.  Less food markets scavenged.  Less population, less people to die.  Less walkers.

No one listens to him, though.  And he won’t talk.  Rick and Shane are civil right now, but they are like a grenade with the ring pulled out; a ticking time bomb.  Daryl shakes his head at them.  It’s hard to believe they used to be the best of friends.

At night, they camp near the woods, away from the road.  If there’s water, it’s better.  At least Glenn has some sense reading the map, following the roads near some kind of body of water.  He has to give the kid some points for that.  The girls and kids sleep inside the RV.  Dale dozes on top of it, holding the rifle close.  Men sleep in the cars.  He crawls into the back of Carol’s Cherokee, make-do by resting against the few bags, dozing lightly until the sun rises.

He thinks less about the conversation with Glenn.  He’d been pleased by Glenn’s answer, although neither of them took action.  It would be easy to go away; they may even do better.  But they belong to this group.  He’s a part of something; something other than Merle or his drug-soaked friends or his father.  He can contribute something for them; they appreciate and value them.  It’s a strange thing, belonging with people he never would have even talked to before this.  When Glenn talks about he and himself, he uses the word ‘we’. 

He revs the engine of the motorcycle, following the road signs they planned on taking.  Soon up ahead, he sees a knot of stopped cars, a large truck turned sideways.  He rounds back to Dale’s RV.  He catches a glimpse of Glenn.  He’s been doing well, recently; hasn’t needed medicine since that day escaping from the CDC.  Still, Daryl can’t help his eyes turning towards him without a thought, looking for the signs only he’s noticed.  Glenn wipes the sweat from his forehead.  He’s well today.  Today might be a good day.

  

\---

  

It had been a good day.  Except the RV stalling in the middle of the road yet again, it’d been a good day.  They’d even found supplies, gallons of fresh water.  Even his heart had felt okay lately; maybe because he hasn’t had to run around so much.  He’d managed to not think about it too much, even spent the night not worrying about his heart.  Except, they don’t have good days.

Glenn makes sure T-dog is buckled up in the truck before going back to grab his things.  It isn’t fair, really, that the group would send him off to the unknown.  In the dark.  With a hurt man.  Daryl is discussing with Dale, maybe he should be the one to go.  Glenn jumps in at that.

“No, Dale’s right.  I need to go.  And I need you to stay here with Carol, Andrea…  I’ll be alright.”

Dale tells him to be careful.  Daryl gives him a nod, so Glenn does the same.  He squeezes the strap of his backpack, so that Daryl understands that he still has his gun and his meds.

The farmhouse isn’t hard to find.  He follows the girl’s direction, finds the Greene mailbox and drives in along the dirt track.  They are dubiously welcomed into the house.  Seeing Rick and Lori there is a big relief though.  Getting T-dog stitched up, sandwiches made out of fresh bread are only momentarily enjoyed, until Lori comes out to say that they can see Carl.  He looks miserable, and he still needs to have more surgery.  Shane’s still out there, trying to get supplies to make the surgery easier, but he should have been back hours ago.  Glenn asks if he should go to see if he can find them, but Rick says no.  He sits out on the porch, watching nothing in particular.  It’s such a strange thing to not see or hear a walker, jump at the sound of dead leaves rustling. 

“You should get some rest.” A female voice says, door opened between them

“I’m alright.  It’s nice here.”  Glenn looks at her.  Maggie is the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.  “It’s quiet.”

“Carl is going to be alright.  My dad’s a good doctor.”

“Yeah.  And Shane should be back soon.  He’s a good… cop.”

She smiles at that.  “I set the living room up with a cot and there are some sheets and a blanket on the couch.  There’s some hot water; you can clean up if you want.  I’m going to sleep until my dad needs me.”

“Good night.”

  

\---

  

Everything is looking better.  Carl is up, breathing, still alive.  They have a plan for searching for Sophia.  Glenn prepares to run into town with Maggie.  She says there’s a pharmacy there with some things they could use.  Fixing Carl up has depleted a lot of their medical supplies.  It should have enough until they find something better.  She says she’ll bring the horses.  Glenn has never ridden one before.  Dale looks amused.  Daryl grabs his crossbow and says, “Horse is safer than anything with a motor.  Especially by the way you drive..”

“Hey!”  But Glenn smiles a bit.

It’s been a long day.  He’s spent the morning helping to collect rocks for Otis’ body-less grave.  He had to help set up tents and gone around the parameter of the farm; Shane suggested it after the brief funeral.  But Rick had needed him, to talk over with Dale.  So he’d gotten stuck doing that chore.  Daryl had come along; he hadn’t much to do until their lunch was prepared. 

Daryl had been quiet at first, thinking about something.  Glenn had kept his pace slower, shotgun slung over his shoulder.  He hadn’t asked about what was on Daryl’s mind.  He’d just stayed quiet, waited.  If he wants to talk, he would, if not, he’d just keep walking.  Along the fences at the farthest end of the farm, near the trees, Daryl had paused.

‘Rabbits,’ he’d pointed to the ground.  It’d been hard to tell, but Daryl was patient until Glenn saw the prints.  But they had no time to hunt.  They had started to walk more.  Daryl had pointed out, ‘That barn…  It’s locked.’

‘Yeah,’ Glenn had replied.  He’d pondered on that until they were nearing their camp.  Ground was damper in the shades.  ‘These look like deer tracks.’

‘Yeah.’  Daryl had looked pleased.  He’d paused to study them.  Or he just needed a moment.  ‘You believe what Shane said?  At the funeral?’

‘Uh…  I haven’t thought much about that.’

‘Keep your eyes and ears open.  Especially to bullshit.’  And Daryl had sauntered off ahead.

After all they had needed to do, the sun is still up high.  Maggie says it won’t take long to ride into town.  So he clumsily jumps on the horse and let her canter through next to Maggie.  He keeps looking over to her; she really is a pretty girl.  It’s just an observation he doesn’t know what to do with.  Maybe he’s just glad to meet someone closer to his age.  He’s hoping they’ll get to be friends.

The pharmacy is pretty much empty.  He’s looking for Lori’s requests, the other’s requests.  He just grabs and shoves them into his pack.  When he realizes what’s Lori’s asking for is a pregnancy test, he fumbles and jumps at Maggie’s sudden voice.  His hand just wraps around whatever is on the ground.  Maggie looks amused.  His face is burning and his heart is racing; he can feel his fingers trembling around the pack of condoms.  His heart skips a beat and then another.  It feels like pain; it feels like that time in the middle of the night by their quarry, searching for Daryl in the middle of the night.

Why are they so familiar now?  Daryl?  Because they had shared something?  Because they know something about each other that the others don’t?  Why do they find themselves together when they are alone, when they are sitting around the fire at night, searching each other out in the small crowd?  Why is it that when his heart skips a beat, he thinks of Daryl?  What is it?

Maggie’s mouth is warm on his and she smells like baby oil.  Glenn pulls away to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out before he has any coherent thought.  There’s hurt on Maggie’s face, and embarrassment.  “It’s not you!”

“Right.  It’s not me, it’s you, right?”  She grabs her top to pull it back on swiftly.

“Look…  I think you’re really… Really pretty.  And I…  It’s too fast and…”  Glenn knows he needs to explain fast if he doesn’t want her to walk away angry.  “You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed.”

“What?”  Maggie looks amused.  “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not…  I’ve just… never wanted to kiss a girl before.”

Maggie’s eyes squint.  “What are you trying to say?”

Glenn lifts his bag and fills it with whatever his hand is grabbing off the shelves.  He makes his way over to the pharmacy counter, takes a deep breath and turns to Maggie.  Her arms are crossed over her stomach.

“I’ve never…  I’m just…”

“You’re gay?”

“I don’t know.”  He looks through the shelves, reading the label of each bottle.  Maggie grabs some of the antibiotics and painkillers.  She doesn’t force an answer but she looks over to him after each bottle she reads over.

He finds a bottle of generic beta blockers.  It’s almost empty.  There are three others he could use.  He asks if Maggie knows what they are.

“They’re heart medicines, right?”  She hands them back.  “Are you…?”

“Yeah.  I was born with it.  My group doesn’t know.”

“I won’t tell.  I swear.”

“I spent most of my life worrying about this heart, going through surgery and rehab, about how my mom would feel if I gave up…  I never really thought about dating a girl or if I really preferred guys or…  I just worried about opening up to someone, falling in love with someone, and having to give them pain because of this heart…”  He zips up his pack, finding nothing else they could use.

He has an easier time climbing on his horse.  She doesn’t neigh at him and starts an easy canter after Maggie.  She remains quiet for most of the ride back.  At the dirt road up to the farm, she stops.  “So you didn’t want to not have sex with me, right?”

“I guess…  But I didn’t want to sleep with you just to say I tried…  That would be cruel…”

“You’re a good guy.”

“Hey, can we be friends?”

“Yeah.  Your secret’s safe with me,” she leads her horse again.  “You really haven’t told anyone?”

“Well…  I think Dale might suspect.  And,” he pauses.  “I told Daryl.  I kind of had to.  We were in a pharmacy in Atlanta and…”

“Daryl…  The guy with the…”

“Yeah.”

“That’s an unlikely friendship you have there.”

“I don’t know if we’re friends…”

“But he’s kept your secret, right?”

“Yeah.  He has.”

“Then you guys are friends.”  She stops them near their camp.  No one’s here except Dale on top of his RV.  Everyone’s doing something, somewhere else.  He hands the reins of his horse to her.  “I saw you guys walking along the fences before lunch.  It looked... intimate.”

Glenn feels his heart jump and skip, beat and skip.  “He was showing me how to track.  He yelled at me when we were out searching for Sophia the first day.  I need to learn how to track and stuff.”

“I see.  Well, if you need advice, you can ask me.  Or if you figure it out, and you know…  Let me know.”

  

\---

  

Rick stops by to see how he’s doing.  Except the stitches feeling numb and his head still ringing inside, he’s just fine.  He’s got water and a plate of food.  He’s going to stay in the shade; he’s never going to let the heat get to him again, hallucinating about his goddamn brother.  Of course, he doesn’t tell Rick that.  He says they’re all going out to practice shooting and look through a housing development on the way back for Sophia.  Daryl grunts that it’s a good idea.

He’s bored and he’s thinking about opening up the book Andrea’s left him.  But he hears shuffling outside the tent and is about to grab the knife from under his pillow.  But it’s Glenn.  He brings him some peaches and some jerky.  The leftovers are for Carol, T-dog and Andrea, he says.

“I’ll leave them here.  It’s cooler here.”  Glenn fixes the cap over his head.  He looks around their shared tent, eyes focusing on the far away barn for a few seconds too long.  “Do you need anything, Daryl?”

“No.  You didn’t go shooting with Rick and Shane?”

“I’m a decent shot.  Besides, someone has to look over the camp.”

Daryl nods at that.  He turns the peach in his hand over and over again.  He’s grown up in Georgia but he’s never liked them much.  Never liked bottling them with ma either.  But her pies have been one of the best.  He does miss those, as much as he doesn’t miss anything else about his childhood.

“You need any aspirin?  Painkillers?”

“No.  Just sit down, will you?  Christ, you’re making _me_ nervous.”

Daryl pulls Glenn down to perch on the cot he’s been lying on all day.  Glenn loses his balance, hand slipping and an elbow on Daryl’s stomach.  He’s still got a grip on the kid’s arm.  And their faces are very close.  Too close.

“Sorry,” Glenn says, trying to raise his elbow.  “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.  Didn’t hurt.”  He lets go the grip.  Glenn remains still.

The moment feels too long.  Glenn’s eyes are downcast, not able to look at him in the eyes.  His breathing in shallow and fast.  “You okay?”

Glenn’s eyes meet his; for the first time, he studies them.  They are so dark, long lashes falling straight over them.  They make his eyes look hollow.  He’s never got to see him like this in the light.  Always in the darkness, over the orange flames at night, or by the moonlight once, but he’s never been this close before.  And he can’t read what’s in them.  He’s so drawn in; he doesn’t realize when his mouth is over Glenn’s it is he who has initiated this.  His hand is tangled in the damp black hair.  Glenn’s lips taste like peach.

Glenn is the one who pulls back, his hand over his chest.  Daryl asks again, “You okay?”

Glenn swipes his knuckles over his eyes.  “Maggie kissed me yesterday.”

Daryl flinches at that.  His head starts to ache again.  There’s still the scent of peach on his lips.

“I don’t understand why you and Maggie all of a sudden decide to kiss me…  Me!  I mean,” Glenn pushes the heel of his hand into the middle of his chest.  “I can’t…  I can’t do this…  To you, to Maggie, to anyone.  You shouldn’t…”

“Glenn,” Daryl lays a gentle hand over Glenn’s shoulder.  He doesn’t understand but he also doesn’t feel angry.  Then he realizes Glenn’s cheeks are wet.  “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

Glenn sobs, clutching at his chest.  Daryl puts his hand over his back, to feel his heart beating.  They are fast, one long pulse, a pause, two beats, another pause…  One, one two, one, one two three…

He reaches for Glenn’s pack, digging out the bottles in there.  Glenn’s not had an attack in over a month.  Daryl’s pretty sure he’s having one now.  He doesn’t know which bottle, so he pops open one to pour a pill into Glenn’s hand.  He fists the pill for awhile, heaving breaths.  Daryl doesn’t know what else to do except to hold the bottle of water and rub a circle over Glenn’s back.

Finally, he drinks down the pill.  Daryl makes him lay down on his cot.  He takes Glenn’s, closing his eyes under his arm.  The worst seems to be over.  Daryl asks himself why he kissed him.

_You shouldn’t_ …

“I shouldn’t what?”  He mumbles.  He doesn’t expect Glenn to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ :)   
> Chapter 6! We're making our way through Season 2 with more speed... (I wanna get to Season 4!! ;)  
> Again, no spelling/grammar check other than what Word has pointed out to me. No beta.  
> If you see any mistakes let me know! :)  
> Thank you again, for all your kudos and lovely comments! Any criticism is welcome, too! I would appreciate any criticisms and corrections to help me make this better!   
> Should I add a Glenn/Maggie (or Glenn & Maggie friendship) tag? I feel like I need to update tags. I've established Glenn & Maggie friendship. Next is Daryl & Carol. :) Weee~~!!


	7. I Choose Instead to Dwell in My Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows the major events of The Walking Dead, the times skipped between episodes and seasons, though in a very Daryl/Glenn sort of way. So it may write and read slow, and will probably go on for a long time. Trying to focus a little more on the 'blank spaces' rather than writing out what's happened in the series, so if you are not familiar with the show, it won't make much sense. Also, am trying my best to keep it sequential to the show timeline, but I might switch things around, miss what really happened, but those were with the very best intentions. Thank you for reading and your patience.

His eyes meet Daryl’s before before taking a deep breath.  He takes another breath.  He just says it.  “The barn’s full of walkers.”

He finds Daryl’s eyes on him, incredulous, but everyone’s staring at him now.

Shane looks like he wants to choke him.  The lights in Rick’s eyes change.  They rush down to the barn.  He momentarily glances towards the house, sees Maggie.  She looks upset, letting the door slam behind her as she walks in.  They all stand around the door.  He watches Shane, looking in through the crack in the locked doors.  And they all start to argue, Rick and Shane first, about staying or leaving.  Then about Sophia, against Daryl.  Glenn jumps in, pushing Daryl back, and has to shove Shane away.  Shane charges again so he shoves again, keeping his sight on Daryl.  Daryl stays behind when Glenn gets in between them, bites his lip, fist tight and itching to grip at his knife.

Daryl stomps away.  Glenn jogs after him.

“Daryl—“

“I need to find Sophia now.  Today.  And then we take her… Take Carol and Sophia…  And we leave.”

 _We_ …

“I have watch duty today.”

“I know.  I’m gonna borrow a horse.  I’ll bring her back.”  Daryl leaves him behind.

Perhaps he needs to start packing, ask Carol to get ready for when Daryl returns with Sophia, they can leave this place.  Daryl is talking about leaving again.  And he’s included in his plan.  Again.  Without a single second thought.  There’s adrenaline flowing through his bloodstream.  He’s aware of his heart skipping beats.

 _We_ …

Stands there until his heartbeat is back to normal, as normal as it can be. 

\---

 

 _You shouldn’t_ …

 

He chooses to cry out loud, leaning his forehead against the big tree trunk.  Forgets that he shouldn’t be like this.  No.  Not her.  She was so young, small and fragile, so hurt and…  Reminds him of himself when he was younger.  The darkness makes all the night bugs rise up, flashing their small lights, buzzing out their bug sounds, whirling around his body heat.  His body slides down against the trunk, leans back.  Stares up into the sky, the giant dark sky, the leaves rustling darker in the quiet breeze.  Tears keep falling out of his eyes, keeps wiping at them but they don’t stop.  He’d wanted to find her.  So much, even if everything in his guts told him to stop, stop now, he’d been stubbornly about searching for her.  Took a bolt in his stomach and bullet to the head too.  And there… she’d been.  The one place in the whole farm he’d been suspicious about since the first morning.  She’d been in there as one of _those_ the entire time.

Tears subside a bit, but he keeps wiping at his eyes.  There’s rustling, footsteps.  He whips out his knife, searching in the darkness.  He’s forgotten his crossbow at his tent.  Just his knife, no gun, no flashlight.  The rustling comes from his left.  It’s not a walker.  It’s hesitant to get closer.

“Come out of there,” he says, hastily wiping at his face to clear away any traces of tears.

Glenn emerges, hands up, taking slow steps.  Daryl puts the knife back in the hilt.

“I can see you just fine.  What are you doing out here?”

“I wasn’t following you, if that’s what you think.”  Glenn says, a bit out of breath, hands stuffed in the back pockets of his jeans.  He’s digging into the ground with his sneakers.

“What do you want?”

The kid is not someone he wants around right now.  He doesn’t want him to see that he’s been crying.  Just because they’d lost a little girl?  He’s crying out in the woods?  No, he doesn’t want people to see this side of him, and especially not the kid.

“I came out to take a walk.   I saw your crossbow in the tent, so I just figured you were in the house or I don’t know… somewhere not… here.”  The kid sniffles, knuckles rubbing at his nose.

“You been cryin’?”

Kid keeps his head down, doesn’t look at him.  “No.  Yes.  Not because of Sophia.  I didn’t feel well.  So I came for a walk.”

There’s a canister of water at the side of his backpack, his machete, and probably the gun he gave him at the back of his pants.

“Got any water?”

Glenn looks at him then, “Yeah.  It’s full.”

He takes the canister, drinks three big gulps, hands it back.

“Where’re you goin’?”

“I don’t know.  I thought…  Just keep walking…  Just away from all of this…  For a little while.  If I go straight down, I’ll get back on the highway.  Thought I might sleep inside one of those cars.  This…”  Glenn clenches his shirt at his chest.  “I think I might start shouting or screaming tonight.  I used to…  When it got real bad.  I wanted to… be away from everyone just in case.”

Daryl chews at his lip.  “Want some company?”

“No.  No…  You should get back.  Carol’s not doing too well.”

“She’s grieving.  Let her.”

“I’ll be fine.  You shouldn’t…”

“I shouldn’t…?  I shouldn’t what?!”  He shouts.  “I told you I was sorry about that!  It just happened!  If you don’t want me around, just say so!”

Glenn’s fingers tighten.  His face is scrunched up, in pain.  And Daryl is furious.  He’s so angry at this kid.  At everything going on around them.  The barn full of walkers, having to shoot them, having to witness the family grieving, Carol breaking down.  There’s only anger inside him.  At the same time, he wants to wrap his arms around his skinny body, make him feel better, fix it all for him.

“You…  You tell me all that shit about you…  being sick and all…  Make me _care_ about you…  I should’ve just left you there in Atlanta, rid me of this burden!”

“You should have…”  Glenn sobs.  “You should have left me behind…  You should have killed me when you thought I was a junky…  You shouldn’t… have cared about me at all…  Because I’ll be dead…  I’ll die from this…  You shouldn’t!!  Care about me in any way.”

He’s wiping his face with his shirt.  He takes a deep breath and stares into Daryl’s eyes.

“I’m going.”

“Go.”

“Go back to the camp.”

Like hell…  He sits back down against the tree, listening to the steps getting farther away, disappearing completely in to the woods.  He remains there until there’s light in the eastern sky.  He goes back to the camp, packs up all of his stuff on his motorcycle.  There’s no one on watch.  He gets to the edge of the farm, leading the bike through the grass, intent on leaving.  He stops at this old broken brick hearth, parks the bike.  Takes the crossbow and gun and water, heading into the woods.

 _You shouldn’t_ …

Because he knows exactly what Glenn meant to say.  What he’s been saying the entire time…

\---  

 

He gets there without running in to any walkers, thankfully.  But he’s tired, legs sore and heart beating loudly.  He finds the car with the supplies they’d left for Sophia.  He chooses a truck parked not too far away, grabs some clothes from other cars to make a comfortable pallet, and lays down his tired body.  He really hopes he can make it through this without any incidence.  Medicine makes it bearable, but he needs to sleep.  It’s quickly hot inside the car.  Maybe this is not a good idea.  He drinks water, and thinks maybe he should find a car that can have open windows.  He tries to move but his heart suddenly pierces through him.  There’s no air to enter his lungs and his eyes water.  There’s screaming, his own voice a stranger’s to his ears, distant.  Glenn thinks, _maybe I’m finally dying_ , with a small smirk. 

Can’t feel a heartbeat.  His fingers punch at his chest.  Throat feels raw from all the uncontrollable shouting.

A growl startles him awake.  There’s light in the sky now, far and low.  Dead fingernails scratch against the window.  It growls and rotten teeth are trying to tear at his flesh through the glass.  There’s another, at his head, scratching, trying to get him.

Breathing is too difficult.  He doesn’t try.  _I guess this is it.  Let them come in._

He stares at the scene outside, the sun so orange, just over the horizon line.  They will be having a proper burial and service for Sophia and Hershel’s family today.  They’ll bury them near Otis’ rocky grave.  _Maybe someone will find me, and bury me there next to Sophia.  That would be nice._

Because it doesn’t hurt anymore.  Maybe his heart’s just given up, let go, stopped completely on him, and his body is slowly dying.  _It’s alright.  At least…  At the very least_ …  His eyes close.

When he opens them next, there’s a body over his.  Air is cooler like maybe someone broke in or opened the door.  A mouth on him.  _Maybe it’s a walker…  I’m dead already though_ …  Glenn thinks…  And the mouth pulls away…

“Come on!  Breathe!!”

Mouth on his…  Pushes air down his throat…  Palm pumping at his chest, another mouthful of air, breathing in…  Glenn coughs, chokes, is startled to full consciousness, taking a deep breath on his own…  His heart rushes the neglected oxygen through his body and he almost goes in to shock.  Except the arms holding him up, crushing his body to calm him down.

His voice is different, not growled out, mixed with moisture, sounds like a child version of Daryl.  Glenn tries to move his limp hand to touch him.  Assure him.  But he is so weak.

“Stay alive.  Stay with me.  I know I shouldn’t…  But I do.  I do…  So stay…  Just stay with me…  Stay alive…”

Glenn tries to smile at that.  No.  It’s not his time to go just yet.  His wits come back, there’s dark blood splattered on the glass.  He doesn’t know how many but Daryl must have killed them all before yanking the door open, letting fresh air in.  He supposes that he’d been the dumb one, not even cracking open a window in the middle of Georgian summer, inside an already hot car.  The temperature must have climbed passed a hundred very quickly.

Daryl’s arms are tight around his torso.  His bare arms are smeared with blood and dirt.

“I’m alive.”  His voice works, hoarse after all the screaming it had to endure.  His heart slows down, still faster than normal, but he’s getting used to it.  It doesn’t hurt here, so close to Daryl.  For someone who’s been so aware of the condition of his own heart his entire life, he’d just not known.  When he’s near Daryl like this, even the moments where he’d been kissed, it hadn’t been his heart in pain.  It’d felt like pain…  Heart beating so fast.  Not like with Maggie.  “I do, too.”

Arms tighten around him.

“Not sure if I’m capable, but I do, too.”

Daryl’s face comes into view, wet with tears and sweat and blood.

“Take your time.  Breathe through it…  Slowly…”

Glenn nods, tired.  He drinks the offered water, smiling at the coolness.

“We need to go back.”  Daryl’s voice is soft, hands caressing his skin.

“Not yet.  I need… rest.”

“Sure, kid.”

Daryl leans back into the closed door at the end of the backseat.  Glenn nestles into his arm.  The door is open at their feet.  Daryl’s hand pulls him closer.  Daryl has his gun in his other hand.  He breathes in Daryl’s scent.  Falls asleep quickly.

\--- 

 

Laying under the stars, Daryl's mind drifts to the events of the past months.  From when the outbreak started, to finding this group, the things that happened in Atlanta, at the CDC, and the weeks of driving around.  Finding this farm, the things that have happened, and the barn full of walkers, the people that Hershel’s family had known. 

And the little girl, Sophia, he'd wanted so much to save her.  It gets him thinking about his past, when he'd been a skinny little thing like she is...  Like she'd _been_.  He'd been terrified of his Pa, watched Merle become like their father, the lashes turning to scars on his back, when Merle had gone away, his Ma...  The small shed in the back of their equally dilapidated shack where Pa would go to cook up moonshine for himself and their neighbors.  Money came from that, even though he'd never seen any.  It got him food when Pa thought they needed to eat, when Ma sobered up enough from her wine to try to cook something up for him.  He wonders if Sophia's life had been a little better.  He thinks of Carol, her kindness and her fears, her tears, her late cruel husband, and maybe, he thinks sadly, that Sophia is better off.  Not the way she'd gone, certainly not deserving to get turned and a goddamn bullet to the head, but she won't be scared no more.  She doesn't need to cry at night, curled up against her Ma.  Maybe it's better off this way.

And Carol...  She'd tried to get him back down to the farm, their camp.  It's just that right now, he can't.  He still doesn't belong.  He doesn't want to belong to this group, when there's so much inside of him that'll frighten them, make them hate him...  He doesn't want to open up and say, hey, here are my pains, my fears, take me in, hold me, love me...  And his thoughts turn to Glenn.

They’d all just accepted the kid, belonged from the first day he showed up with his backpack full of canned food and medicine.  When had _he_ accepted him?  Maybe that time when he handed him fresh gauze, alcohol.  Or maybe the first time he fainted on him.  Every time their eyes met…

He shakes his head, wanting to get him out of his head.  But he's always there, in the small corner of his mind's eye, watching him, making sure he's taken care of, that when he's sick he'd have someone watching his back.  But Glenn doesn't want that from him.  He doesn't want to be taken care of, he'd said so, nearly, needing only to get away from everyone when he felt sick.  He'd wanted to get away from him.  Daryl grits his teeth. 

When he'd seen the walkers clawing their way inside the car, he'd acted first and thought afterwards.  Glenn had been all pale, wasn’t moving, and for a very short second, thought he was dead and that he may be better off, like Sophia, for all the pain to be taken away, right there in that truck.  But he'd stabbed all the walkers down, felled them around the car.  Fought to break open the door.  Couldn’t find a pulse.  Pressed his mouth to his, breathed in air to his lungs.  Breathed and breathed, pumping his chest for heartbeat.  Exhaled and this laughter burst out of him when Glenn took a deep breath on his own.  Sat with him curled up at his side, until he'd begun to feel better.

He can still feel the heated skin, the uneven pattern of his breathing and the heart beating unsteadily against him.  And then this one moment, Glenn's hands sliding across his stomach, sighing into his chest.  He'd let his hand fall in his sweat soaked hair, wanting him to feel his presence.  That it is him holding his shoulder while he slept, not anyone else.  This feeling he'd never had before, never had a chance to feel with anyone in his life, he feels right now.  A hopeful wish that the kid were here right now, laying on the dry grass beside him.  It makes him angry and depressed. 

And a voice gnaws at him from the back of his head that sounds like Pa, like Merle, and he doesn't want this.  He doesn't want to feel this kid everywhere, even if he's distanced from him, from _them_...  He doesn't want to feel anything about him.

_Do you really not want it?_

_He doesn't want me to care.  He's said so_.

 _You shouldn't care_...

 _I just don't know how to stop_...

\--- 

 

When he gets back to the farm with Rick and Hershel, Maggie runs over and hugs him tight.  Everyone looks worried and tired and wants answers.  Maggie asks him if he's alright.  He shakes his head.  His hands tremble, still thinking about the rifle in his hands, aiming at a _man_ , alive and still _human_ , and his finger on the trigger.  He couldn't shoot.  He couldn't shoot at a man, even if he presented a threat to them.  He'd cowered and hid.  Now his stomach churns and he wants to throw up.  There's blood on his hands from that kid in the back of the truck.  He's a mess right now and all he wants is to wash his hands.

"Where's Daryl?"  He blurts out without a thought.

Maggie's eyes soften.  "I don't know.  I have to go take care of Beth.  Will you be alright?"

“How is she…?"

"She'll be fine," she assures him.  Even this feels like it’s his fault.  Not getting Hershel back fast enough, not doing anything right.  If he'd just shot that guy, if he'd just pulled the trigger, they would have returned in better time.  But Maggie's hands rub at his blood and sweat soaked arms.  People go into the house, back to the camp, and he just feels alone.  His heart pounding inside.

He searches for Daryl.  He's at his lonely camp at the edge of the farm.  He's doing something to his crossbow.  There are squirrels hanging on rope.  There's a small fire.

Daryl notices him.

"We brought Hershel back."  He tells him about the people who attacked them, what happened with the hurt kid in the back of the truck.

"Whose blood is that?"

"That kid’s."

Glenn doesn't relay his doubts, the should haves and nots; not to Daryl.  Because he doesn't even know why he's here, when he needs to wash the blood off, to change his shirt.

"What do you want kid?"

Glenn tries to get the blood off his hands with his shirt, rubbing at them, picking with his nails.

"I think you need to be there…  Rick wants to have a meeting.  About that kid, about what we're going to do...  They might find us, attack us, those men on the road...  He needs you, you know, we all do...  I do..."

One...  One, two.... One...  One...

"I'll think about it."

Glenn sits near Daryl, watching for his reaction.  He puts down the crossbow, sighing.  He hands him water, and Glenn takes it.  Trickles over his hands to clean his fingers.  It looks like squirrel meat cooking over the fire.  It occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday and he’s hungry.

"Can I stay here for awhile?"

One, two...  One, two... three...  One...

"Sure."  And hands him cooked meat, as if he’s read his mind.

"I'm glad for you... being with us, you know?"

Daryl doesn't answer, cleaning his knife with a rag.  Glenn feels drowsy, either nauseous or hungry.  He hugs his knees, head resting on one kneecap.  God, he smells like blood.

"You're a part of this group, you know that, right?"

Blue eyes hit him.  Under all that dirt and sweat and mess, his eyes are still so blue.  They petrify him.  Absorb him in like no others'.

"I'm always scared.  I couldn’t pull the trigger to help Hershel and Rick.  I can't do the necessary thing.  I'll always be sick and I'll keep getting into trouble...  But...  I want to live."

Daryl stares at him quietly.  Listening...  Soaking him in...

"I accepted dying in that truck...  But you were there, telling me to stay alive...  And then last night, when I hid from those guys...  It was because I wanted to live.  I want to live.  And..."

He wants to reach out, touch his hand, his wrist or any part of him.  He wants to connect.

Daryl nods, though, understanding his incomplete words.

"It's going to get cold.  You should go back."  Daryl says.

Glenn stands, hesitates, and starts walking.  He turns back, needing to say.

"It would break me apart knowing you care about me, and knowing that I would die one day, but I'm going to live.  And I need you to know."  Glenn watches Daryl, rising.  Eyes are ice cold.  Glenn shivers.  He remembers being held so tightly, the warmth against his body.  No.  He can't.  He doesn't want to depend on him.  He needs to say it.  "My heart breaks down when you're not around.  I need you close to me...  My heart needs you.  But I don’t want to keep relying on you…  It’s just all contradictions…  But I want _you_ close to me…"

Daryl turns away, watching the forest, the tree line.  It feels like an eternity, turning back around.

 _Somewhere along the way, it’s become_ us _not you and me_ …

"Come here," he says.  Glenn's mouth turns up into a small smile.  He leans his weight against Daryl’s, a hand in his hair, listening to the quietness all around them.  The sunlight is fading behind Daryl.  He clenches at the shirt, breathing slowly.  Daryl says, “Let’s go to the house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened on repeat to Dave Matthews #41 Live at Radio City Vers. With Tim Reynolds through this whole chapter construction. #41 is such a sweet sorrowful love song that gives me goosebumps and all kinds of feels. Tried for bitter and angry Darlenn for this chapter, but it turned rather… fluffy…


	8. Don't Put Your Trust in Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of chapter titles come from Ray Lamontagne lyrics. Mostly listening to album 'Till the Sun Turns Black' for the atmosphere of this series, if I'm not rewatching TWD for a specific episode.

Glenn waits outside the barn while Hershel checks up on Randall.  It’s been about five days since he’s been brought in, had surgery and kept sedated.  He’s been out of it for the most part, much to the disapproval of Shane.  Using up valuable resources, he says, but the majority of the group just wants him healed and dealt with as soon as possible, so Glenn doesn’t argue.  He checks the rifle, finger hovering over the trigger, ready to point at Randall’s head at any sign of aggression.  Even if he doesn’t want to shoot.  He’s made up his mind about it, that he needs to do anything necessary for his group, for his people.  Daryl had been the one who suggested that Glenn be the one to guard Randall while Hershel checked on him or when Patricia brought him food.  Rick had agreed, so had Dale with much enthusiasm, probably figuring he wouldn’t shoot the kid.

He locks up the door, asking Hershel how he’s doing.

“He’ll be able to walk in a few days.”

“That’s good.  Rick’s going to take him away.”

He carries Hershel’s medical bag for him to the house.  Hershel says to him, “Maggie cares a lot about you.”

Glenn gulps, “Yeah.  She does.”

“But you don’t, not in the same way she does.”  It’s a statement, not a question.

Glenn holds the silence for awhile.  “No.  I don’t.”

Hershel looks at him, to their camp, and to the far off end of his farm where Daryl’s camp is set up.

“You’ve got a condition.”

Glenn freezes.  He grips hard on the rifle barrel.

“Maggie didn’t say anything.  I’m a doctor.  I see things.  You’ve got a heart condition.”

When he is given a statement like that, he can’t refute.  So Glenn nods, hurrying his steps towards the house.

“You’re afraid that they’ll think otherwise, but you need to have faith in your people.  You have put faith in my daughter, even if you’ve just met her.”

“I can handle it.”

“Yes, you can.  Just like at the bar.”

“What?”  Glenn flares up.  “You can’t blame me for freezing up, being made to shoot a man!  That just isn’t fair!”

“No,” Hershel says.  “No.  You couldn’t shoot at a living man.  Some men will, to protect something or just because they have a gun in their hand.  It just tells me that I can trust you, as a person.  And it’s you I would trust to protect my daughters, my family, if I weren’t here to.”

“You… trust me?”

Hershel walks on ahead and Glenn follows.  He puts the medicine bag on the porch.  Hershel gives him a gentle look; one he’s not shown anyone else.  Different from the firm sternness he has with Rick.  Not the loving eyes he has with Maggie and Beth, mixed in with the sadness remembering his lost wife and stepson.  “I would.  It’s why I agreed to have _you_ there with a rifle when I’m checking up on Randall.”

“Thank you.  That means a lot.”

“I would like to give you an examination.”

“I’m going into town with Daryl.”  Hershel’s eyes soften at the mention of Daryl.  Glenn can’t help but think that he knows so much more than he’s letting on.  He tries hard not to blush.  “We’re heading farther down the new developments area?  Maggie said there was a new pharmacy there and a grocery store.  And a med center, which is what we need to try for the most.  Maybe when I get back?  Or… Not at all.  I feel fine.”

“More bandages, any blood clotting medication and sedatives,” Hershel lists for him.

“Sure.  Patricia wrote everything down for us.”

“Be safe.”

“You, too.”  Glenn smiles at Hershel, jogging back to the camp where Daryl’s waiting impatiently by Carol’s truck.

\--- 

 

Glenn rolls around a lot in sleep, maybe because they’re on sleeping bags over grass and tent, not a cot.  Daryl doesn’t mind it, even the sore at his side from his knee kicking him hard there.  He’d gone to hunt as soon as the sun was up, left the kid sleeping and rolling around on top of the sleeping bags.  It doesn’t mean anything, he says to himself, following the trail of a doe.  It’s cold at night and they can keep warm, without fire.  That’s why Glenn’s spending more time with him, he’s told himself every night this week.  Daryl hasn’t tried kissing him again, hasn’t thought about it.  He just likes having him around.  No, he does think about Glenn.  Eyes darting from his eyes down to the tip of his nose, to those lips, parted and tongue flicking out to moisten.  It’s not a kiss he’s thought about, but he can’t take his eyes and mind off of him. 

He’s so distracted that he loses the doe.  He does catch three rabbits, getting chubbier for winter.  Glenn’s awake when he gets back, washing his face with water from a bucket he keeps refilled before night time.

“Cool.  Rabbits for breakfast.”  Glenn comments, with pleased still sleepy eyes.

“Need to gut and skin ‘em first before you can eat ‘em.”

“Can I help?”

Daryl stares down at the kid, dropping his crossbow near his bike.  They’re almost finished with their drinking water.  He tosses his empty canteens at the kid.  “Let’s go down to the camp.  One of these is for Hershel’s people.  Thought Beth might like something different to eat.”

Glenn turns into a grinning puddle before his eyes.  “Oh my god, stop acting like you don’t care about them.”

“Shuddup…”  Daryl finds himself smiling behind his wrist, rubbing at his mouth to try to hide it.

Glenn throws out the bucket’s used water into the grass.  He chatters about what he has to do today, helping Hershel with Randall, about going to a med center Maggie drew him directions to, new and probably not on any existing maps.  Daryl listens, tossing the rabbits into the empty bucket, cleaning the bolts.  Glenn shifts through his pack, swallowing a pill with the last of his drinking water.  He stuffs the emptied canteens into the pack, going through his collection of bottles.  “Daryl?”  He calls to him.

He gives him his full attention.  Glenn holds up three small bottles.

“Orange is the ones for every day, but I rationed them out to every three days when I feel fine.  This one with the red top, look, I filled in the top here and the bottom with marker, are for when my heart slows down like the last time.  And the black here, are for if my heart gets so fast that I faint, like I did back at the quarry camp.”  He’s got them in a plastic zipper bag.  “I also wrote out the pharmaceutical names for them on the bottles.”

Daryl doesn’t understand.  Looking at them makes him glum so he breaks his concentration, picking up his crossbow.

“Daryl…  I divided up everything I had.  Please keep these with you, in your motorcycle or something.  In case…  In case I lose mine.”

He snatches the bottles with a huff, stuffing them into the motorcycle’s bag.  He sighs deeply, staring into the bag where he keeps his extra gun, the important belongings.  The three bottles lay there.  Gets him thinking about all those times he’d had an attack, how pale and sickly he got, clutching his chest, trying to breathe through it.  These little things can help, if he can reach them.  And he wants to live.  Live through this.  He’d said that he wants to be close.  The kid’s right; he always is.  Just in case.

“Don’t expect me to remember what’s what.”

Just in case the kid is right.

“I won’t.  It’ll be fine.”

Glenn shoulders his pack.

“You going alone?  Into town?”  Daryl asks, needing to change the atmosphere, not wanting to dwell in this solemn silence the conversation’s turned into.

“No.”  Glenn answers.  Pushes his hair back out of his face.

Daryl chews his lip.

“You’re coming with me, right?”

He puts his arm around Glenn’s shoulders, roughly pulling him along towards the camp.

+++ 

 

_You give me emotions that I’ve never experienced before, and I’m not sure if that’s safe.  For you or me_ …

 

The women are so happy for the rabbits.  Carol says _he_ should take it up to the farm house, handing him the biggest one by the ears.  Glenn nods, picking up one of the rabbits and a knife bravely, grimaces momentarily and smiles at him.  He’s awkwardly knocking on the door.  He looks back to his people, searching for Carol or Glenn, when the door opens.  It’s Hershel and Patricia, cloth in her wet hands.  They study him through the screen, still unsure.  Daryl clears his throat first.  “Caught some rabbits this morning.  Thought you might like it… maybe Beth…”

Hershel opens the screen door, waving him inside.  Patricia brightens visibly.  “Thank you, Daryl.  Otis used to bring us rabbits.  Beth loved them.”

“Thank you for thinking of us,” Hershel says.  When Patricia’s returned to the kitchen, Daryl stops gnawing at his thumbnail.

“Got a question.  A medical question?”  Daryl searches Hershel’s face.

“Go on.”

“Was wondering if you can look someone over…  He fainted the other day.  Stopped breathing for awhile.  I think his heart stopped, too.  Did CPR on him so…  He didn’t die…”  He’s rambling on so he pauses.

“Who is it?  And if he had a serious episode like that, why didn’t he come to me sooner?”

“Don’t want others to know.  But I’m… worried.”

“It may help to know who it is.”

“Glenn.”  Daryl bites his lip again.

“What happened?”  Hershel’s voice is all doctor, no judgment in it.

“He’s got a heart condition.  Takes pills for it.  But he…  The day after the…  Barn…  It happened.”

Hershel nods.  “I’ll talk to him, give him a once over.  I suppose you want discretion as well.”

“Yeah.  Maggie knows.  He told her when they went to the pharmacy together…  Before…  He picked up some pills there.”  He keeps searching the old man’s eyes for the sucker punch.  But finds none.

“That’s good to know.  I’ll talk to him.”

“Oh,” Daryl turns back at the door.  “We’re going into town.  A list would be nice, of what we should get, or we’ll grab all the wrong things.”

“Thank you, Daryl.”

Back at the camp, he takes over Glenn trying to skin the rabbit.  He doesn’t give directions but slows down so Glenn can try the other rabbit.  He doesn’t mess up that badly.  When he goes to fill up the water canteens, Carol nudges Daryl, saying, “That was very decent of you.”

Daryl turns away, afraid she’ll see his heated cheeks.  So he complains how people need to wake up earlier.  Through breakfast of scrambled eggs and rabbit meat, Rick and Shane argue about what to do with Randall.  Daryl suspects that there is something else between them, but doesn’t say anything.  Dale, Andrea and Lori speak up, but Shane gets physical, almost right in their faces.  Glenn strongly disagrees to killing him, voice firm.  Shane scoffs, piercing eyes to Glenn and him, sitting side by side on the picnic table bench, suspecting; judging.  Looking like he wants to comment on the recent sleeping arrangement they have.  Everyone knows, of course, they’re only a couple of handful of people.  It’s still no one’s business though.  Dale jumps in, defending Glenn’s opinion.  He says they don’t even know if Randall can walk yet.  That leads to Shane’s point of view on the dwindling medical supply.  Maggie comes down from the house then, pausing the conversation.

“Glenn, my dad wanted to know if you can come with him to check up on Randall?  And…  Daryl, thank you for the rabbit.  Beth smiled for the first time in a week…”

He nods at the pretty girl.

“And here.  Patricia wrote out a list.  She said the top half are priority, the rest are helpful.” 

Glenn takes the list, looks at it once and folds it into his pocket.  His fingers brush his arm, his shoulder, and low voiced, “I’ll be back soon.”

Daryl grunts his answer.

Everyone gets up when Glenn receives a shotgun from Dale and heads up to the house with Maggie.  Daryl gets a list from Lori and Andrea.  He goes up to Carol, eyebrow quirking.  He wants to tell her that…  He’s sorry for the things he’s said when…  He’d been angry, but he shouldn’t have taken it out on her…  She’d approached him, and he’d just…  Screamed without really meaning to…  He would have yelled at anyone…  Perhaps she can read his thoughts.  He asks her if there’s something she needs.  She glimpses over Lori and Andrea’s lists and comments, “Everything in their lists.”

“You know I’m…  I didn’t really…”  He tries to start.  But she lays a hand on his arm, where Glenn’s touched him after breakfast.

“I know.  And I said you’re just as good as them, right?”  Her eyes follow Glenn, holding Hershel’s bag and his rifle.  “Better than some.  And good enough…”

“I need to get ready.”

“Take my truck.  Keys are with Dale.  And don’t forget to fill her up.”

+++ 

 

Glenn seems happy and Daryl is content because Glenn is smiling just as brightly as the sharp angled sun lights of the coming evening.  Days are getting shorter, and it's cooler, so Daryl has to wear his few long sleeved shirts.  They'd managed to salvage almost everything on the list, as well as clothing from the big donations box outside the med center.  New boots for himself and Glenn, who squirmed saying he won't be able to run in them, but seemed to be happy.  They'd found some ammo; Glenn running in and out quickly into a house with a big pick up, grinning widely as he exited.  He'd held out a new buck knife and used but good bolts for his crossbow.  He hadn't had time to find the crossbow, but done better than he would have, just on a hunch of a truck that looked like it belonged to a hunter.  If Daryl had wanted to crush him into an embrace and kiss him right there in the middle of the street, he hadn't done anything about it, but smirked, and said, "Good job, kid."

They'd thrown all the clothes into the backseat, not sorting anything out.  Someone else can do that when they get back.  There's a milk box full of cans in the trunk, and the gas containers are heavy.  It's a good day.

Daryl doesn't ask how he's feeling, just glimpses at Glenn every other minute.  He has that bright smile on his mouth, and Daryl's hand migrates towards it.  Ends up on Glenn's nape, fingers defining the strands of soft black hair.  Glenn looks at him with a question mark on his forehead but doesn't pull away.  He leans back into the touch and Daryl remains that way.

"Think we will stay at the farm?  Hershel's still angry at Shane."

"Don't know.  Shouldn't plan on settling," Daryl answers.

"Lori...  She's pregnant."

"Hmm," Daryl hums, kinda had that feeling that she might be.  Glenn tells him about the run with Maggie, and the kiss with her at the pharmacy that makes him grip a little hard at Glenn's hair.  Glenn says he didn't feel a thing but panic, and Daryl contemplates if that's a good thing or bad, for him, for Glenn, while he tells him about the morning after pills, Lori and Rick.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"What are we... doing?"

Daryl removes his hand, taking the wheel and stretching out his left arm out the window.

"Are you..."

Knuckles whiten over the steering wheel.

Glenn exhales.  "Nevermind.  We don't have to talk about it."

There's a pack of cigarettes he’s found in his pocket, and he's itching to rip it open.  It's been too fucking long.  He's never been good at talking about it, about his feelings.  He's good at avoiding the subject.  But he doesn't want to do that with Glenn.  Not right now.  There is a battle inside him, brain versus heart.  World sucks right now, and he may never get to say it, but he doesn't want to be rejected again.  But had Glenn rejected him?

_Why are you so afraid?_

_Stop being a little sissy and act like a man._

_A man you always aimed to be.  Different from your Pa or Merle_...

_Different?  I didn't want to be different..._

_But_...

"I like you being with me," Daryl says, voice low and gruff.  His throat is itching for a taste of smoke.

Glenn doesn't reply.  He's holding his breath and exhales long after.

"I want you to live.  I want you to keep being with me.  I don't connect to anyone else here, but... you.  But..."

There's a walker on the road up ahead.  He slows the truck down, thinking about slowing down to kill it or swerving around it.  When there's one, there are more.  Glenn's hands are playing with his new knife.  He's thinking the same thing at the moment.  It's too close to the farm.  So they stop.  Glenn jumps out first, and the walker is lured.  Daryl only watches after getting out of the truck.  He tells him how to hold the knife, where to stab.  Glenn tries, misses, cuts a big chunk into the neck.  The walker tries to bite, hands clawing for live flesh.  Daryl's hand is on his knife and gun, but holds his distance, aware of the surrounding, listening for others.  Glenn plunges the knife into the base of the skull, lets it fall.  They move the body out of the road.  Into the truck again and drives on.

Daryl listens to Glenn's breathing, fast but not harsh.  He's learning, adapting.  He can live through this, and survive it, with or without him.  Will Glenn choose to be with him, even if he doesn't need him?  That...  Is that it?

"That was good," Daryl says.  Glenn's cleaning his knife with a yellow tee shirt they're both sure no one will want to wear.

"Thanks.  More practice won't hurt though."

"Mmm..."

They come to the mailbox.  Daryl slows down to check the surrounding before turning into the long driveway.

"I've never opened up to anyone before...  No one."

Glenn just listens, rubbing at the blade with the cloth, though it's clean.

"I'm trying."  Daryl finishes.  Doesn't know what else to say.

"Daryl, stop the truck."

He presses the brake hard, the small squeals of the brake pads loud in the silence that follows.  Foot digs harder down when Glenn's mouth is on his, warm soft lips.  He wraps his fingers around his nape, pulls him in harder, swallows the warm supple lips and tastes them with a swipe of his tongue.  Never been a great kisser, never had much experience, but Glenn moans softly against his mouth, meeting his tongue with his own.  Doesn't last long but don't want to separate either.  Reluctantly, Daryl pulls away, watching Glenn's eyelids flutter open.

"Let's try..."  Glenn whispers.  Daryl nods.  Removes his foot off the break and drives up the meandering drive to the camp.  His fingers remain in Glenn's hair until the very last minute, a last squeeze, parks and turns the engine off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 & 8 go together, but I had to separate them, for the first 3 parts of ch. 8... the way I wrote it, to be out of order, was intentional, but wouldn't have made sense inside a continual chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Always. Please let me know any criticisms, problems, likes or dislikes, comments, to make this and others better. I am also on tumblr (coveryourheads.tumblrdotcom) where I post weekly snippets of any WIP works, including this. Also you can leave me completely anon crits if you don't want to do it here.
> 
> *Please also note that I only post here on ao3, any recent works, and small parts on my tumblr. Thank you.


	9. Whisper To Me Is This Love

Daryl holds his wrists above his head, his whole weight pressing down.  He has to groan out this feverish want inside of him outwards.  Daryl's mouth pulls away from his neck, follows down to the collarbone, up again, mouthing his chin, the line of his jaw, making him groan again.  Even though they've laid out both of their sleeping bags, a clean-ish soft towel and a couple of sheets, there's something rocky jabbing at his back from under the tent.  He shifts his legs to get away from it.  And his thigh brushes against Daryl's juncture between his legs, half forming erection, gets Daryl releasing a shuddering gasp against his ear, his skin.  Glenn's been having a hard enough time breathing and now that hot air against his sensitive skin makes him jerk, back bending.  Bites down on his lip hard.

Daryl meets his mouth, tickling him a little with his facial hair, has to giggle from it, but soon he's relishing in the taste of Daryl’s tongue in his mouth.  He wants to wrap his arms around Daryl's shoulders, feel his warmth and his skin against his palms but can't move his arms, still trapped under the strong hands.  There's this swipe of tongue against the bottom row of teeth and curls around his tongue, making him whimper into the kiss.  He tries to remember how to breathe through it all, swallow the mixture of saliva, and kisses him back with as much fervor.

They don't go much further.  He wouldn't mind it but Daryl seems to want to take things slowly.  They separate, and he manages to open his eyes.  Daryl is staring down at him, eyes still so blue even in the darkness.  His wrists are let go, fingers settling between his loosely.  And Daryl's head ends up on his chest, ear at his heart, listening to the uneven beating, the hollow skips.  Stays there and falls into sleeping.  Changes position so that they're lying on their sides, Daryl's ear still against his ribs, one arm around his waist.  Glenn fits one hand in Daryl's hair, getting longer, too soft against all that antagonism he armors himself with.  Falls asleep within minutes, sharing warmth.

He wakes up to Daryl's shuffling around.  Rubs the sleep out of his eyes and a nightmare.  Can't remember what it held.

Daryl never says good morning, in any wonderful romantic way.  He watches him lying around in the tangle of the piles they sleep on with soft eyes.  Glenn tells him though, _good morning_.  Daryl acknowledges with a usual grunt.  His expression is so relaxed, even peaceful, until they open up the tent to face the day.  Always the cautious one, has his knife in his hand before unzipping the tent flap.  Checks the surrounding to make sure they're safe, sheaths the knife and pulls on his boots.  He goes behind the brick hearth to urinate and washes his face from the bucket of clean water Glenn always brings.  He's ready early because Rick and Shane wants them all to discuss about Randall.  They almost didn't make it the day before, couldn't leave him because he said he went to school with Maggie.

Glenn washes up quickly, wiping the remaining water with his shirt.  He has a long sleeve shirt to wear over the sorry tee shirt; it's cooler throughout the day now.  Leaves are changing colors and the muddy creeks around the farm are drying up. 

They'd followed it yesterday while Rick and Shane were gone, hunting for bigger game than squirrels and rabbits.  He'd done better, successfully finding a strange bird track, and they had a couple of turkeys in sight, flapping their useless wings.  Daryl had given him the crossbow.  It'd been heavy and difficult and almost missed it.  Hurt one, while the others gobbled away.  Had to use his knife on its neck.  It'd been fattening up.  Daryl had made a comment about how rare it was to see wild turkeys down here in Georgia.  Carried the thing by its legs.  Made everyone happy with the kill, Daryl giving an off handed praise about Glenn but not without a comment about his poor shooting.  Spent an hour on its feathers and skinning and gutting under Daryl’s instructions.  It had looked lean when he was done but smelled delicious cooking in the oven.  Carol had even made a peach pie with Beth, out of bed and sitting in the kitchen.  It would have been a nice celebration, except that Rick and Shane returned barely intact, and Randall still alive.

Rick had come up to them, lounging on the porch with T-dog, Jimmy, Andrea and Maggie, each trying to play the guitar.  All their smiles and laughter faded at his state.  Rick had ignored all their questions and said directly to Daryl, "We need to question Randall about his gang."

Daryl had nodded.  Glenn had become furious knowing what he meant by ‘questioning’.  Refused to talk to Rick and Shane the entire night through dinner that was supposed to be good and happy.  Ended the evening very quietly, surly.  Glenn leaving with Daryl without even tasting the pie.

"Are you really going to question him?"  He asks.

Daryl pauses buttoning up his shirt.  "It's necessary."

"I can do it.  I can ask him about his group, get him to talk.  You don't have to do what they want you to do.  You're not like that."

Daryl rakes him into an embrace.  Glenn stares out into the span of grass, wanting to be stubborn about it.

"It's necessary."  Daryl repeats.  "I know you don't like it, but it's necessary."

The ends of Daryl's fingers are rough.  It's rough from hunting, whittling wood, his work from before _this_ , fixing up the truck, fixing up his brother’s bike, everything but... _that_. 

"It's gonna be fine."  Daryl assures him, idly patting his back of his head like an obstinate child.

"Don't let it change you..."  Glenn says in a small voice, unsure if Daryl's heard or not.  But he has keen hearing.  He just doesn't answer.

\---

  

He's washing his hand of the blood in the bucket that Glenn's forgotten to empty in the morning.  Good thing, too.  Didn’t want to be seen pumping water to clean his hands.  Didn't expect this much blood either.  He can still feel the bones under his knuckles, the quickly swelling skin.  Didn't expect he'd have to do this much.  He'd done it though, and that fact won't change.  The looks on Dale and Carol's faces, he tries to shake away.  The hurt on Glenn's face.  He'd wanted to hold him, make that hurt go away, tell him, _No, I'm not going to change, you've already done that for me.  I don't want to change from this, I don't want_ this _to go away...  I won't ever let you get away_...  He knows he's done wrong, but can't change the past.  At least he got some truth out of Randall.  It's necessary, he tells himself again.  It's as necessary as killing walkers, hunting animals for food, scavenging for things...  Even if it feels like it's taken a chunk of humanity from his insides…

Like he won't fit so well in that mold Glenn's cut out for him anymore…  But it's necessary.

And then Dale...  He comes up to him, tells him they all need to express that it's not right executing Randall.  He knows it's not.  He agrees, but says this needs to be done.  Dale says, the same words as Carol’s, that he doesn’t have to agree to something he feels wrong about because he's a _decent_ man.

"I ain't."

"What you do for the group, putting yourself out there, searching for Sophia, what you do for Glenn..."

He gives the old man a sharp glare at the mention of Glenn.

"There's one thing Glenn won't tell me, and we've pretty much shared everything there is to share...  He’s told you.  He trusts you.  He's a good kid.  And I mean that in the highest regards...  He loves you and thinks you're good for him.  I think so, too.  You're every bit as good as them, Rick, T-dog...  I can't stand here and watch you get hurtled down to...  To torturing, to agreeing to execute a young man.  That...  That's what Shane would do.  Not you.  You're a decent man."

It's the second time someone's told him he's good.  That he's decent.  Not just _another_ _Dixon_...  And...

 _He loves you_...

Is that what this is?  He's letting down the person who loves him because he's unable to speak up and say, no, it's not right.  He goes through the stuff he has in his bike after Dale is gone.  Glenn's medicine, stuff for his crossbow and bike, the pack of cigarettes...  He rips it open, lighting one and takes a long drag.  Tosses the pack back into the bag.  He notices that his gun is missing.

\--- 

  

Glenn hasn't spoken a single word to him since last night.

Neither of them have slept at all.  He’s cried against his shoulder all night but still doesn't speak.  He knows what's on Glenn’s mind.  At least, he's pretty sure.  He's slumped over his backpack, throwing in some clothes from the tent, his other things.  Checks through his bottles and holds one of them in his hand for awhile.  Doesn’t take his medicine, stuffing it back into the pack.  Daryl's done rolling up the sleeping bags.  Starts disassembling their tent.  It's quick, when Glenn starts to help him quietly.  Glenn's feeling guilty about disagreeing with Dale.  He feels it, too.  Almost spoke up in that thirty seconds of silence in the room, that, no, they shouldn't just kill him.  But he'd looked down at his skinned knuckles, at everyone's faces, at Glenn, staring down at his boots, slouching low on the piano chair, and had not spoken up.

They pack the bike with the sleeping bags and tent.  He rolls the bike down towards the house, slow over tall grass.  Glenn at his side, wiping at his face from time to time.

He'd not argued about grabbing Randall to the barn, holding him down as Rick psyched himself up with the Python in his hand.  He could have, right there, when he'd seen Rick's hesitation, stopped him from executing that kid.  Then Carl had saved them all.  Daryl had let himself release a long held sigh, after he'd locked the chain around Randall's wrists again.  Randall had kept saying thank you.  Just sat there thinking about what to do, this situation, and in that moment, looking at that kid, still alive.  He'd smiled just a bit, thought he regained the bit of humanity he'd lost in the morning, and started to make his way back to their camp, to Glenn.  He had needed to touch him, to be close to him, get back on the track he's been on for the past months, leaving being a _Dixon_ behind, to being the man that Glenn deserves...  That he deserves for himself...  And heard the scream.

He can't get it out of his head.  The bang and flash, the bullet caved into the head of a man he'd known, liked, hell, _respected_ , taken Rick's Python, one that’d been loaded to shoot Randall with.  Had pointed it at Dale's head, saw into his pleading eyes, and pulled the trigger.  The weight and blood is on his hands.  Can’t get the blood off no matter how much he washes and scrubs at his hands.  He's been diverted from that road again.  And maybe, Glenn won't want _this_ person anymore.  Maybe he's changed, in the span of a day, into who Glenn’s been afraid he would become.  The doubt inside him twists and expands.  He hears himself say, "I'm sorry."

Glenn stops, backpack dropping to the grass.  Wordlessly wraps his arms around his shoulders.  Daryl catches him, lets the bike topple over.  His shoulder's getting wet, but he doesn't care.  He's just holding Glenn to him, closer than close, crushing him in his arms.

"What are you sorry about...  You've got nothing to be..."  Sobs escape, a weak cough, and a few sniffles before being able to speak again.  "I saw your face...  You wanted to say you agreed with Dale...  But you didn't because I didn't..."

He lets him cry about it for awhile.

"I didn't even get to tell him...  That I was sorry..."

"He knows."

"I was thinking about...  You said it was necessary.  No matter how much I thought, there was no way to keep everyone safe with Randall alive.  I wanted...  To keep everyone safe...  I thought it was the best way...  To keep you safe...  Keep you from having to do that again..."  Glenn looks up into his eyes, irises large and glossy from crying.  He does his best to wipe away the tears.  Swipes his thumb over the soft skin of his cheek.  Grazes his knuckles over his face, realizing that he’s tormented someone with them, still red and raw, and tears his hand away.  Marks with his lips over the trails of those tears.  Tastes the salt on them.  Kisses the soft tear swollen mouth.  Glenn’s fingers are digging into his back, kissing him back, clear drops falling as he shuts his eyes.  He just wants this, just as this is.  Holds Glenn’s face, kissing him deeply, wanting nothing else but this.  Prays for all of it to be over, all the risen-dead to disappear, all the sadness and pain and fear that they feel to be lifted, and he’ll do anything, _anything_ , to be able to have this forever. 

It just comes out.  Inevitably.  The words.  "I love you."

And means it so honestly that his eyes water.

There's an emptiness against his chest, the warmth slipping through his fingers.  Opens his eyes to see.  Glenn backs away, picks up his things, silent, and stumbles towards the house.  The kind of ache that Glenn lives with, he wonders, if it feels like this.

\--- 

  

Glenn can feel Daryl keeping his distance.  Doesn’t meet his eyes.  And he thinks, _I deserve this_.

He hadn’t meant to.  He just…  It wasn’t the right time.  One of the boxes are really heavy but he manages to get it through the door.  Now that he’s done with all of the women’s things, he can move his meager belongings in.  He’s in the den with all the men.  He just puts his backpack in the corner.  The sleeping bag in his hand is actually two, folded together and rolled up.  His and Daryl’s.  He sets it down next to his backpack.  He’s going to have to talk to him sooner or later.

He turns and almost calls out to Dale.  Still can’t believe he’s gone.  They’d buried him in the morning.  And Hershel’s invited them to stay in the house, planning for the winter months.  His mouth is still in the shape of Dale’s name, and he tears up once again.  He’d been the only one to ask about anything, known that he'd get a nonjudgmental, wisest possible answer for the best outcome.  He can’t ask Maggie, that would be too weird.  T-dog?  Doesn’t know Daryl that well.  Carol?  She’s busy with the other women and can’t pull her away without it being very not subtle.  Shane?  No way.  He sees Rick, finished parking the truck at one of the exit points.  Maybe.  He’s better than…  Well, anyone else at the moment.

“Rick?  Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”  He sounds all cop-like and Glenn thinks for a second that maybe it’s not the best idea.  But his mind can’t come up with any excuses, so he takes a deep breath.  Rick’s looking at him, waiting.  And someone is going to interrupt them very soon, so it’s now or never.

“We’re friends, right?”

Rick has a small smile.  “Of course.”

“Well, I… have this problem.  Uh, geez…  Where do I start…”  He rakes his hair back under his hat.  Rick’s of course very patiently watching him.  He shuts his eyes because that just makes it better.  “I didn’t say it back.  I couldn’t…  He said he loves me…”

He slowly opens his eyes, but Rick’s expression is the same.  Not even fazed by this.

He takes another deep breath.  “He… didn’t mean it.  I was just… really upset about Dale and…”

“Glenn, I’m sure he’s meant what he’s said, knows how and what he feels, seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t say something without meaning it,” Rick suggests.  So he knows.

“Well… I think I’ve upset him.  How do I…  talk to him?  What do I say?”

Just as he’s thought, Lori’s voice interrupts them.  Rick puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “You walk up to him and you say, hey, how are you.  And you be honest about the rest.”

“Right.  Easy for you to say.  Lori doesn’t carry a high powered crossbow,” Glenn tries.  Rick smiles at his sarcasm. 

He can’t find Daryl anywhere.  And he has to get Dale’s RV up to the house.  Andrea says it won’t start, so he spends some time there.  When he does get back to the house, Daryl’s talking to Rick on the front porch, map between them.  They’re planning to take Randall further out.  And it has to be today.  It looks like they won’t have time to talk.  He goes into the bathroom to clean the engine grease from his hands.  Takes long because the soap sucks.  The door opens behind him.  He looks up and finds Daryl.

“Gotta piss,” Daryl says.  He doesn’t wait or make him leave.  Glenn blushes bright red, keeping his eyes focused on his hands.

“Did you fix the RV?”

“Yeah,” his voice is small.  There’s the flush of the toilet.  Daryl is about to leave.  He turns and yelps, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Daryl replies, facing him.  Rick’s good at this.

“How’s are you?”

“’M good.”

But there’s nothing else to say.  So, “Gonna wash your hands?”

Daryl kind of smiles and turns on the water, soaping up his hands.  Glimpses at his.  “Baking soda.”

“Hmm?”

“I used to wash my hands with baking soda… worked better than soap.”

“Right.”

“Glenn,” the way Daryl says his name makes his eyes water again.  There must be something wrong with his tear ducts.  “I ain’t mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No.  I know how you must feel.  I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured.  Or whatever you’re feeling.”

He bites down on his lip.  He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Well, I’ve got to go…  the Randall thing…”

Daryl turns the faucet off, wiping the residue water on a towel.  And then he has that wrenching inside of him.  Glenn grabs at Daryl, before he exits the small bathroom.  Hugs his back.  Rests his face against his shoulder.  Doesn’t want to let go.  Doesn’t want him to go out there.  Daryl is holding his face in both hands now.  Lips graze over his forehead, light, understanding.

“I’ll be careful.”  Thumbs press into the lines his tears make down his face.  “Please stop crying.”

The face Daryl has when he looks down on him, when they’re alone, makes his heart skip and body ache.  The chinks in his armor are too apparent when it’s just the two of them.

“It’s broken.  I’m…  I can’t get it to stop.”

“Think about something that makes you happy.”

“I am.  And it’s making me cry.  ‘Cause I can’t say it back.  I don’t know why!”

“You don’t have to say it back.  Just know that…  That I love you.”

\--- 

  

He can't tear his eyes away from watching the barn blazing with fire.  RV burning.  Walkers migrating into the fire.

Seems right, burning barn, burning RV.  They can rest there forever, Sophia, Dale...  Hershel's family...  Like a funeral pyre, they deserve the biggest brightest flames for a ceremonious farewell.  He feels his heart rushing.  Thinks about Glenn.  He's sure he's made it out.  Glenn had jumped in that car with Maggie driving, followed by shotgun fires.  Hadn't seen the car getting away from the farm.  But he's sure that he's fine.  Maybe...  This is right, the way it should be.

There's a scream.  A woman.  He revs the engine and rides down towards it.  It's Carol.  She jumps on.  Walkers claw and stagger towards them.  He calmly drives the bike away, getting as far away as he can.  They end up on a road, familiar, the one he'd taken with Glenn that time they'd gone scavenging.

Carol shouts at him, "We need to get back on the highway!  Rick's going to be there."

Sun is rising, grey, cloudy.  Doesn't warm up the air.  Just brightens the surrounding in eerie grey, fog rising and settling.  He keeps on driving towards the med center.

"Daryl, stop!"

She's angry.  He doesn't respond verbally but stops and turns the engine off.

"We need to find the others!"

"Did you forget?  The group's broken!"  The anguish and fright he's been pushing down deep inside himself explode.

"We can fix that.  We need to stay together.  Think about us," she wipes her face with the back of her hand.  "Think about Glenn!"

"I am!"

Carol jumps off the bike, turning her back on him for a moment, hands on her hips.  She turns to him abruptly.  He flinches at her hand, but she doesn't hit him.  Never intended to.  Palms his face in a motherly gesture he's never known.

"Don't you have something he needs?  Medicine?  Yes, I have eyes and yes, I observe very well.  I'm sure he's kept some with you.  If he's lost all his things...  He'll need them.  He’ll need you."

Remembers the pills in the packs of his bike.  Just in case, he'd said.

"But more than that, don't you need him?"

Bites down on his lip.  Thinks on that.  Maybe that damn thing Glenn's got is contagious.  Though he knows it isn't, his heart feels empty.  Been listening to the random pattern of his heartbeats for the past week.  And it feels like that, skipping, hollow, like a well that's been emptied out, dried out.  Beats to the same odd patterns as Glenn's.  And yeah, he needs Glenn more than Glenn needs him, in a way.  Can't think straight, can't breathe right, can't function correctly anymore.  Glenn is his fucking ground he can stand tall on, be the decent man he's always been wanting to be, to make the better choice, to swell that hollowness inside him.  Even in his absence, he's putting him on the better path.

"Get on.  We're far from the highway."

Carol smiles widely, kisses his face.

They drive, wary of stray walkers that might jump out at them from the woods.  They don't know how many burned, how many were shot, or how many were in that herd.  Doesn't hurt to be careful.  And the motorcycle is very loud.  And they see the green SUV stopped on the road, blood splattered everywhere and no one in sight.  Daryl's heart sinks.  Tears down the road to get to the SUV.

Brain thinks a thousand things.  Until the driver's side door opens and Maggie slides out.  Hugs Carol and touches his arm.  Daryl is about to yell for Glenn, but Maggie stops him.

"He's in the back.  He's not feeling well."

Daryl gets the bottles out of the bike, fumbling with the door to get it opened.  Hands are shaking so much, and everything is blurry.  When he does get the door opened, Glenn's there, clutching his chest.  Sees him.  He looks like he's going to cry.  From happiness or the pain, there’s no time to decipher which, but he supposes, both.  Daryl holds the medicines out and helplessly asks, "Which one?"

"Orange..."  his voice is hoarse.

It's hard to open the cap when his hands are too sweaty and trembling.  He does finally, and shoves one pill into Glenn's drying mouth.  There's no water.  He’s aware of Maggie and Carol hovering behind him.  He doesn't care.  Climbs in on top of Glenn, lands his mouth on his.  Glenn sucks at his tongue, letting their saliva mix, tries to swallow, and swallow, until he finally does.  It isn't exactly sanitary or ideal but he gets the medicine down his throat.  Daryl doesn't pull away, though, keeps his mouth on him as long as he can, until Glenn needs to cough.

He lets out a weak laughter at Glenn's next word.  "Hi."

Takes hold of his hand, laying his palm over the heart.  Pill works quickly.  Keeps wiping the sweat from Glenn's face, holding it, giving him a small peck on his parted lips, over his tired eye, and against his temple.  Did he really think he could leave this behind?  Stupid, chides himself, studying Glenn’s face. 

"You need to rest.  You've not slept in two days."

"Neither have you."  His voice is weak.  Daryl's breath releases in gasps, fingers remaining over Glenn’s sticky face, trailing down over his neck.

"We'll drive to the highway.  Rick will be there."

"Not leaving?  You could have, you know."

"Not today."

Kisses him once more.  Backs out the car.  Tries to ignore the way Maggie and Carol are looking at him, impressed and shocked and amused.  Maggie takes the wheel of the SUV with Carol in the passenger side, to keep an eye on Glenn.  Daryl leads them towards the highway.  The hazy grey of the morning is lifted and there are colors again, all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> I shouldn't be posting while I'm kinda drunk but f__k it. :) I'll edit later.  
> Or not.  
> So much childish drama and stuff I don't want to be dealing with ex... so I drank a little... which I shouldn't be... omg I'm gonna delete this later... hahah...
> 
> Love you guys for keeping up with this fic!! Seriously! Love you all!!!  
> There was something I wanted to make a note about... but uh... I forget. ;)  
> xoxo


	10. Every Breath He Takes Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between S2 and S3, surviving the winter months. Happy Daryl/Glenn.

  

Everything makes perfect sense.  But he doesn't let it show.  He had told the truth about Hershel's barn, thinking it was good for all of them.  Rick had known, all this time, that they're all going to turn no matter how they died, that they're all infected.  No one's forgiven him about keeping that information from them, except maybe Hershel, who's always on Rick's side now.  He certainly hasn't.  Carol hasn't.  Daryl, to certain extent.  No one's talking about it though.  Rick and Lori aren't speaking to each other unless it's absolutely necessary, even though he can see that Lori's trying.  It’s probably because of Shane.  Because Rick’s killed him, and blames them for the murder of his best friend.

They keep quiet about it most of the time, following Rick through everything.  But everyone's hungry.  Everyone's tired.  Everyone's cold.  And everyone is very scared.

Glenn picks through the garage boxes.  There are clothes in some labeled 'Mark'.  Another box is labeled 'Anna'.  Another says, 'Mikey'.  The clothes from the box 'Mikey' are smaller, and will fit Carl, probably.  The 'Anna' clothes will fit the girls.  He rummages through and pulls some out of the 'Mark' box, some loose, some not.  None are folded, just thrown in there.  He realizes that whoever tossed all the clothes in there had been in a hurry; nothing is folded.  It makes him sad for awhile.  But they need clothes.  Winter is upon them and it's freezing.

They say that Andrea's dead.  He doesn't know why but it doesn't make any sense.  They've seen her go 'down', but hadn't seen her getting swamped like Patricia or Jimmy.  It's not certain but they haven't gone back to the farmhouse.  Too many memories, he supposes.  Too many walkers.  It just doesn't feel like she's dead though.

There's enough of them to have formed a kind of pattern when entering a house or a market.  T-dog enters first with Rick, Carl following, then him, Maggie and Daryl in the rear.  Hershel remains with Beth, Lori and Carol outside, on guard and minding the vehicles.  When it's been cleared, they find whatever's edible or wearable or medicinal.  Finding a weapon or camping gear is just plain luck.  Mostly, they search through each house on a block.  Each house looks like they’ve gone through it already, probably because they've been going around in circles for the past month.  Gas, Rick reasons.  But maybe he's searching for something better, uncertain though, like a sixth sense about it all.  Even though there's a map, they don't go much further out.

"We'll stay here tonight," Rick says, tired.

They chance the fireplace, letting a single log burn down to embers before setting another one in.  Women sit closest to the fire, huddling under blankets.  Lori's tummy's showing.  She gets sick over whatever's available to eat, too cold, too tired, so he tries his best to look out for her.  No one else is doing it and he kind of owes her for trying to meddle about her pregnancy early on.  She sends him a weary smile whenever he hands her extra portions of food, another blanket to warm up under.  They're all grateful for the extra clothing tonight.  Carl's found a bag of flours in the kitchen so they make flatbread over the low fire.  It's not great but it's also not bad.  Better than starving, and everyone wants second helpings.

Doors are barred with whatever heavy furniture is in the house.  There are rooms upstairs, cleared.  But everyone opts to sleep against the wall or on the couch or the floor of the front room, together.  They've gathered whatever clean sheets and blankets and towels.  It's very cold tonight, anything liquid beginning to freeze outside.  Daryl, who always sits against a window, looking out and around while clutching his crossbow, is leaning against him on the sofa cushion he's sitting on.  He guesses tonight will be one of those nights they'll let whatever is walking past them to just go on walking.  There's no watch rotation tonight, like everyone's forgotten or too exhausted or cold.  At least they've blacked out all the windows for this room.

The only thing amusing him these days is Daryl's poncho.  It's this old Indian blanket he's found somewhere, cut a hole in it for his head and wears it all the time.  Glenn's mentioned Clint Eastwood and got a smirk out of him.  It's scratchy but it's warm.  And one thing he's thankful for is that no one's gotten sick.  No cold, no flu yet.  Except Lori who's always sick and miserable with the baby growing inside her.

His eyes close, head resting on Daryl's shoulder.  There's enough blankets today that he can share one with Daryl.  Daryl's hand grasps his under the blanket.  It'd be more comfortable with his arm around him, but this is just fine.  Everyone knows and surprisingly no one seems to care.  Well, it's the end of the world, and being 'out' is the last thing on anyone's mind, even if it's him and Daryl.  They might have said, well, Glenn, I kind of suspected, but for Daryl, either people don't want to offend him, or they really just don't mind.

And it feels good.  Like they're a big family, patched up together to fit, in any case.  A family.  He likes that thought.

Wind howls outside, rattling the windows, a wind chime warning them from across the street.  So he stays awake, risks a kiss on Daryl's shoulder.  The fabric tickles him, so he makes a face.  And Daryl's eyes meet his, strange cool blue tonight, loving.

"I think it's near Christmas," Glenn whispers.  It's been on his mind for a few days.  Probably off by a few weeks but doesn't matter.  It feels like Christmas.

"Merry Christmas."

Doesn't matter who's sleeping or who's a witness.  He's pulled in closer by the waist.  A warm kiss to his lips, slightly parted mouth, a quick touch of tongue.  And it feels like Christmas.  Just for the night.

\--- 

 

They hit a mother load of goods in a private storage unit off the freeway they've been driving on. 

Sign had been rusty and knocked over, but he'd noticed it, signaled to group to follow him.  Fence gates had been locked but the building at the front was easy to break into.  It had looked old, disused, and there was no hope for anything other than maybe a temporary shelter, but they'd followed his instincts and tried for the small office building.  There had been half a dozen walkers inside, easy kill, now that they were almost experts at it. 

No ammo is used at this site.  One of them has the master key, hanging over its crooked neck.  They find a bolt cutter and a rusting prying bar.  Some other tools they pack up for later.  The metal doors are all frozen or rusty but just takes some elbow grease to open them.  First two are empty and disheartens their expectations.  Glenn finds a list of names with garage number in the office so it saves time instead of trying to open all of them.  Daryl wants to hug him tight, give him a casual kiss on the lips.  Just messed his long hair with a smile.  There’s no time for that anyway. 

They find a unit with these ancient rifles and guns.  They pack up the antique rifles though they'll probably chuck them later.  Daryl pockets one of the salvageable bayonets.  They find a variety of oddities they have no use for.  Another unit contains a mountain of books and paintings, weird sculptures that look like a fortune.  Glenn shuts the door to that unit for some reason Daryl doesn't understand.  They're about to leave and Daryl gets that weird feeling about the unit closest to the office.  Opens it up to find piles of cans, dried goods, medicines and first aid kits.  Batteries and flashlights.  A few boxes of ammo.  Red plastic containers full of gasoline.  Those people had stocked up and then died along the way.  They all laugh for the first time.  There's not enough room in their trucks for everything, so they do end up tossing the antique rifles and guns.  Rick decides after all to spend the night.

"Looks like they cleared out a damn pharmacy," Daryl comments.

Hershel goes through all the medicinal boxes with Maggie.  Makes a good kit for himself in a small pouch to keep with him at all times.  He shakes his head, no, there’s no medicine here that Glenn can use.  The extra things he can use for surgeries and first aid are packed up in a big bag and stuffed in one of the cars.  Maggie draws a big red cross sign on it.  Carol and Beth go through the food stuff with Lori, making an inventory, trying to decide what to make for supper.  They look content for the first time in months, even Lori, not going pale.  He and Rick go over the perimeter before it gets too dark, checking the fencing and any stray walker.  Spends time chaining up a few weak parts of the fencing.

"It's a good place," Daryl says, pointing out the tall trees, how they hide the compound almost completely.

Rick shakes his head, "Not good enough."

"Could stay and rest a few days though," Daryl chews on his lip.  "We could use it.  Some stretching out after being cramped in the cold would be good.  It's getting warmer, too."

Rick goes on over the fencing without a word, thinking about it.  "Only a few days.  There's no source for water.  It's...  Not enough."

"Alright."  Daryl has to agree in the end.  He can't imagine the kind of place Rick would be satisfied with.

When they get back, they've moved the cars in, facing out, locked the gate from the inside.  A big metal garbage can is used for lighting a fire.  There's more logs from somewhere, and containers of water.  Two side-by-side storage units have been cleared out, with anything resembling a chair or couch or cushion or blanket spread out for everyone.  It’s not ideal, the cobwebs in the corners, cold metal, but it’s good enough.  They would need to make fire in each of the units or they’ll freeze in the night. 

T-dog tells them, "Glenn took a car, brought logs in for fire.  Found a creek down that way.  Only got enough for the night though.  We'll have to go in the morning for more.  It’s a good place."

"We'll not be staying that long," Rick answers.

Daryl looks over at Glenn, trying to make something resembling a grill over the fire for the women.  Can't believe he'd gone out by himself.  Shakes his head because he's decided a while back to not hold him back.  To let him be who he needs to be.  Stop being so overprotective.  Tells himself, he's back, he's safe, and he's breathing.  Stop being so afraid for him.

T-dog looks like he wants to argue Rick’s decision but doesn't.  There's no point because Rick's made up his mind already.

Dinner is good, everyone gets to eat as much as they want, even has dessert of canned fruits and pudding.  Daryl takes first watch.  Lights one of the few cigarettes he has left.  Fiddles with the crossbow strap in the darkness.  Thinks about how long they would have to do this before they find a place they might be able to call home.

\--- 

 

It's early morning when he goes down for his watch rotation.  Glenn tries yawning to chase sleep away.  He hardly feels the weight of the gun in his hand anymore.  Sometimes feels empty without it.  He ponders on that less often now.  It is the way it has to be.

They are in a large house.  According to the map, if he's gotten it right, they're somewhere southwest of Atlanta, further than they've been.  The house, they find by chance.  It looks like it's survived the Civil War and no one's been living in it since then.  Wood creaks all over.  It's an old design that’s been built to let breeze through the windows, cooling their sweaty skins.  The water well in the backyard has clean water, so at least there's that.  And there’s nothing but fields of overgrown grass, farmland, trees for miles.  It's just a temporary place.  Lori's tummy is too big for them to move fast.  Gasoline is harder to come by.  Any food they have been stretching out since the storage units are long gone.  They have some ammo, makeshift weapons, haven't lost anyone yet.  Survived winter relatively well.  Mother nature decides to skip spring altogether.  It's a hot and humid summer again, damp and uncomfortable in the daytime.  Glenn is thinking, it’s been over a year since the initial breakout, since he’d found the quarry, met the group, met Daryl for the first time.  It doesn’t feel real, yet it has settled in him that it is.  Doesn’t ever forget that they aren’t safe and they could be attacked by walkers or humans at any time.

It's a good place here though.  They've been here a few days already.  Lori doesn't feel well and Hershel worries about premature labor.  So Rick concedes on staying until they have a plan.  They settle in.

He goes on a run with Maggie.  They have a good system between them, even better than with Daryl, though he'd never say.  Daryl prefers to go hunting since there's no guarantee about bringing back dinner.  They see a school building on the way back almost empty-handed, so they decide to check it out.  Have to kill walkers in the yard to make it to the door, back to back.  It's risky but they make it.  The halls seem empty but can't be sure, so they find their way to the cafeteria, ripping down an emergency exit map off the wall.  There's sleeping bags and luggage, all sorts of lived-in stuff in there and walkers.  They draw out one at a time, bracing the door, sticking their knives in to the heads.  He's tired by the end, heart and breath ringing inside his ears.  He keeps at it, rummaging through the kitchen with Maggie.  They stuff two of the suitcases with anything they think are edible.

"We should check out the nurse's office," Maggie says.

"I...  I don't think..."

"Let's try."

Heart races, skips so many beats that there's not enough oxygen being delivered through his body.  At his pale sweatiness, Maggie makes him sit against a wall.  Leaves him as she runs towards the nurse's office.  He tries to get calm, breathe through it.  Keeps quiet and wary.  Can't be any happier when Maggie comes running back.

"We have to go!"  She yelps.

They let the suitcases roll behind them.  With some help of sudden rush of adrenaline from the growling mass of danger, they carry them successfully to the car, throw them in, close the doors and rip out of there.  Walkers are pouring out of the building, trying to follow the noise of their car but they're long gone.

"That was crazy what you did," Glenn says.  But the pain is gone.  Wind in his hair and face makes him feel a lot better.

Maggie laughs out loud.

"What?"

She pulls out a bottle from her small backpack.

"That's what."

It's a bottle of beta blockers.  He breaks out into a big grin, hollers into the air.  He's happy the rest of the evening.  Hershel tells him that they'll work, but it's smaller doses, for a child.  Doesn't even care.  Daryl seems more relieved than he.  They’d been down to just a few pills in the three bottles, unable to find anything in the past few months.  Ibuprofen certainly helped in emergency circumstances, Hershel approving, though he admitted to his limited knowledge on his condition.  Having Hershel, Maggie and Carol know about his heart certainly increases his chances at getting help.  Daryl divides up the pills for the bottles in his bike before supper.  He doesn’t take chances about it now.

The big house and warm weather has everyone sleeping in separate rooms.  Some don't have stable enough floors but there are plenty of them.  Rick, Lori and Carl are in the family room on the first floor, safest and closest to the cars.  Hershel is in another room on the first floor, close to Lori but also giving them some space.  The sisters take a room upstairs, Carol and T-dog in two adjacent rooms.  Daryl chooses a room farthest down the hall, with Glenn following.  Glenn giggles to himself at Daryl's reddened ears from the exchanged glances between Carol and Maggie.

There's an antique bed, but they don't even poke at it.  Sets up their pile of sleeping bags and blankets and sheets in a clean corner of the room.  They leave the windows open, relishing in the feeling of cool air rushing into the stuffy room.  Glenn tries at getting some of the grime off his skin with some washcloths he's soaked in water before coming up.  There’s a creek nearby and Daryl’d promised to take him swimming in the morning but still wants to get some of the sweat off his skin.  The washcloths fall when Daryl pulls him back against his chest with both arms.

"What you cleaning up for?  You'll be sweaty again soon," Daryl's voice is low in his ear.  Makes him blush.  And so turned on.

"You're doing exactly what they thought you'd be doing," Glenn teases.  Head falls back at Daryl's mouth marking his neck.

"Can't help it," Daryl murmurs.  "I love you."

Glenn moans as Daryl’s hand trails down pressing over his dick with insistence, but probably more so at his low spoken three words.  Everything happens too quickly, skin revealing, touching, tasting.  He doesn't ever let Daryl go, afraid he'd lose him in the darkness, a ridiculous thought he knows, but holds any part of him he can, tightly.  It is painful, the first stretch, even after having adjusted to fingers, tongue, saliva.  To not think about the discomfort, he jokes that he’ll grab lubricant when he can.  Daryl doesn't respond with words, but kisses him like there's not going to be a tomorrow or another moment like this.  It gets better, the soreness of being stretched fading.  The slow thrusts are possibly the most astounding good feeling he's ever experienced in his life.  Daryl's mouth covers his when he can't suppress the noises anymore, but Daryl groans into his mouth, too.  There's a shout against the skin at his neck, to muffle his pleasure as Daryl climaxes inside him.  Shivering body.  Sweat falling off his face.  There's a strangled grunt as Daryl pulls out.  Daryl’s mouth immediately goes for his hard sex, sucking and pulling.  It doesn’t take long.  A hand clasps over his mouth as Glenn shouts out his orgasm.  Swallows everything.  Lays with his head over his heart for a while, immovable.

A little later on, Glenn thinks he's fallen asleep, wakes slowly to something cold and wet over his face and body.  Daryl's got his jeans and boots on, not buttoned up, laces undone, sitting beside him.  The washcloths he's dropped before are tossed further away.  And his skin feels cleaner.  Daryl kisses him softly.

"Go back to sleep.  I gotta go on watch."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Yeah."  He pulls on his shirt.  Picks up the gun by his feet.

"Daryl?"

He looks down at him.  All the adamant walls have been knocked down, open scars and softness are bared.  Glenn's heart wrenches at the vulnerability.

"You know I-- I do... too... right?"

"Yes."  In the melancholiest voice he's ever heard from anyone.  Brings tears in his eyes.

"I really do."

Fingers push back his hair.  "I know."


	11. Why Is That So Hard for You to Do?

It still smells like rotting corpses even though they’ve cleared out all the fallen walkers.  The cell he’s chosen is right across the perch Daryl decided to use for himself.  He doesn’t want to sleep in a cage, he’d said.  Glenn couldn’t force him to come into the cell.  It’s too quiet inside the prison block.  Each cough, each throat clearing echoes within the walls.  He wants the warmth and weight against him but Daryl is stubborn.  He knows it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.  So he’ll have to try to sleep through the night alone.

It doesn’t work.  So he gets up, climbs down the metal staircase, carefully stepping around Daryl’s sleeping form.  Walks past Rick sitting on the floor, who seems to have fallen asleep.  Keeps really silent with the keys, locking the barred door behind him.  He’s gotten too used to Daryl being next to him that he can’t fall asleep.  Or maybe it’s the eerie silence.  Or the stink of the corpses.  Or that he can’t quite believe they’ve found this place.

He strolls the perimeter of the grassy yard they’d cleared, staying within the inner fences.  It’s a nice and breezy night.  The moon is slight but bright, the countless stars speckled across the deepest blue sky.  The night before, out in the grass field, Daryl had held him tightly.  A palm laid over his heart as he fell asleep, a whispered _I love you_ , body fitting so right together.  Used his poncho as a blanket.  Right there, beside the last of the fire, among their people, just so perfectly.

He pauses, staring out at the black nothing of the forest surrounding the prison yard.  He hears him first before the familiar heat against his back, the hands gripping the fence on either side of him.  Forehead against his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Glenn hears himself say.  He supposes it’s for both of them.  Doesn’t need an explanation from Daryl about the cells.

“Don’t like it in there.”  Daryl admits.

“Neither do I.”

Instead of explaining why he’s not in the cell, sleeping, he turns to attack Daryl.  But he gets pressed against the metal fence, breath cut off.  Glenn kisses him back just as heatedly, desire coursing through him.

“I want you,” Daryl grunts out.  Glenn nods, mind quickly trying to find a place they can go.

But they go down on the ground, hastily, clumsily.  Fingers fumble over buttons, over the zippers.  The grass is moist beneath his back, but he doesn’t care, can’t keep his mouth off of Daryl’s.  Everything is fast, frenzied, with the harshly exhaled groans in his ears and so…

“Love you,” Daryl says against his chin.  “Love you…  Love you so much…”

He is filled with fever.  With…  _Love_ …

A growling body hits the outer fence separating them, startled.  Daryl’s trying to grab for his knife, shucked along with his pants.  Glenn takes the hand, looking up into his eyes.

“Hey, it’s just one.  We’ll be fine…”  He knows it’s just reflexes, his own fingers splayed to grab the gun.  But he still wants to show Daryl that…  It’s safe.  It is safe and he can let himself believe it’s safe here, for both of them, for their family.  “We’re safe.  We’re okay.”

He holds Daryl’s face in his palms, meeting his eyes in the darkness.  He knows neither of them will get really used to it.  The fences, the walls, the steel bars, the idea of safety.  But he has to try for them.

“We’re alright, Daryl…”

Heart begins to beat loudly inside his ribs, as Daryl takes hold of his hips.  He presses in again, to fill him.

“I’m… with you,” Glenn whispers, back arching at the pleasant ache again.  “You’re safe…”

They climax together, finally, having forgotten about the walkers beyond the fences.  It is weird when he thinks about it after, but Glenn smiles to himself about it, earning a small chuckle from Daryl when he tells him.  They don’t get much privacy or the time anymore for intimacy.  Glenn cleans up and dresses, laughing out loud at their current situation, tumbling over grass like teenagers and settling for a quickie, even with the growling walkers bumping into the fence because they can’t get enough of each other.  Daryl is looking beyond the fence, wondering if he should take care of the walkers.  Glenn takes his hand, kissing his knuckles.  They decide they will be fine for one night.

\--- 

 

He blames himself for Hershel’s leg.  He blames himself for Carol.  For T-dog.  He should have spoken up about the prisoners to Rick, should have dragged them out the prison fences and let them find out what it’s really like out there.  Could have done it.  They wouldn’t have lost them.  Should have.  And…  Lori might have been okay.

He blames himself, just as much as Rick is doing. 

He remembers the burn in his legs as he ran up the perimeter.  The gravel perimeter hadn’t felt so long walking down to the space in the fence they had cut away to get inside.  In the morning, they had cleared all the corpses from the yard.  Hershel had been up and ready to try getting out of the bed.  They had all the cars inside the gates.  Glenn had suggested burning the corpses they’d piled up.  Daryl and Rick had agreed, so they risked going outside the prison fences to grab some wood.  He’d had Glenn’s nape under his fingers as they watched from the distance, Hershel outside with Beth, Lori and Carl, using the crutches they’d found.  Everyone had been smiling, happy, even Lori and Rick.  He’d pressed a small kiss on Glenn’s head pulling him close, felt Glenn’s smile against his shoulder.  And then…

Carl’s scream of walkers and gunshots had pierced the air.

He couldn’t run fast enough.  He blames himself.  He should have stayed with their group, instead of going out there with Rick and Glenn.  It’s his fault for thinking they’d be safe up there.  Shouldn’t have believed in those words, that idea. 

_We’re safe_ …

Never safe.

_You’re safe._

Never.

He’d never felt pain like this.  Finding the remnants of T-dog’s body, torn up so badly there was barely anything left of him to bury.  The scarf around Carol’s head in the morning, just laying there, its owner gone.  Carol…  She had this look on her as she handed him his bowl of breakfast.  Carol had asked him, “Are you happy?”  Her crinkled eyes flashing towards Glenn briefly, who was talking with Beth and Maggie about supplies they needed desperately.  And he had flushed a bit, taking his and Glenn’s portions but answering her, “Mmhmm.”  They don’t even have her body to put in her grave. 

And then…  Lori.  Seeing Carl’s face had explained enough.  The wailing baby, Maggie’s tear-drenched face, all had meant one thing.  The one thing that Rick had been trying so hard for the past nine months to prevent, just like that, had all been in vain.

_We’re safe_.

We’re _not_ safe…

They could not lose the baby.  He’d had to take care of everyone, take charge, after Rick stormed into the contaminated cellblock with an axe.  They’d needed to get the baby food.  Quickly.  Maggie had volunteered, saying she needed to do it for Lori.  He nodded, as she grabbed things out of the SUV.  And Glenn…  “I’ll go too.”

“No.”

“Daryl…”

“We’re _not_ safe!  You’re _not_ going out there!”

“Daryl!  You are _not_ going to do that right now!”

“I need you here,” he’d said, trying to control the urgency in his voice.  He had his fingers in Glenn’s hair, the side that curled in against his jaw.  Had to try to reason.  Fingers trailed down over his shoulders, to his heart, trying to find the strange rhythm of it, the missing beats and the quickened movements of his ribs under his palm.  _We’re not safe, and I can’t lose you, too._   But those words were not going to work on Glenn.  So instead, he’d said, “We lost Carol, T-dog, we don’t know what Rick’s up to…  I need you here.  Look out for Hershel, Beth, Carl…  The baby.  They need you here.”

“Fine.  Be careful, please…”

“I love you,” Daryl had whispered.  Glenn had nodded, eyes downcast.  Maggie had jumped on Daryl’s bike.  Glenn had squeezed her shoulder, “Both of you…  Be safe.”

The only thought in his head had been, _we’re not safe_.  _Never_ …

_You’re wrong_ … 

Blames himself again.  He feels all the pricks in his heart and lungs.  He loves Glenn.  There’s not a single doubt about that.  But maybe he’s doubting that…

On the way to the shopping center, Maggie points out a daycare center.  They break in to the empty place, finding diapers, bottles, cans of dry formula.  He sees a child-sized hand cut out on the wall, with the name _Sofie_ and he knows there is something broken inside him.  It is his fault he could not track down the little girl back then, lost the farm, lost Andrea, and it is his fault today.  He should have been there.  He’s there for Glenn.  When Glenn needs him most, when he’s at the brink of his heart failing, he’s there with medicine, with water, or to hold him, to kiss him.  And Glenn is there for him.  As much as he is there for everyone else…

“Daryl,” Maggie calls to him.  “These rooms are clear.”

“I’ll check the back.”

Glenn is there for everyone else, but he can’t be everywhere, because of Glenn.  Because his focus is entirely elsewhere, on Glenn.  He can’t protect everyone, keep everyone safe because his sightlines are partially blinded by Glenn.  Because he loves him so much.  Because he’s never loved anyone, anything more.  He thinks he understands now.

_You shouldn’t_ …

I shouldn’t have…

‘Maybe you’re right.’  Scans each room.  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t…’

The last room is a kitchen and there’s a sound coming from the closet.  Turns out to be only a possum, so he shoots it down for dinner.  Maggie makes a disgusted face, and packs up the formula from the cupboards, though they will probably last about a week.  At least, the baby will get to eat until they can really go out there to scavenge.  It’ll do for now, Maggie says.  They get back on the road to the prison as quickly as they can.

Once inside, he takes the howling baby, still wrapped in Carl’s jacket.  The formula is mixed quickly, and she finally calms, feeding with frenzy.  His eyes scan the faces around him, pausing at Glenn.  Glenn smiles back, leaning into the metal fenced door.  All the doubt…  Fades.  How could he not love this man, who can look at him like that, with so much adoration in his eyes, look at him like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.  No one has ever looked at him like that.  No one’s ever looked at him the way every member of this family is looking at him right now.  He hands the infant to Beth after she finishes the bottle, to get diaper on her, to dress her in the tiny clothes they’d brought back. 

“She’ll sleep soon,” Hershel says.  He leads Beth and the baby inside their cellblock to put the baby to sleep.

He’s suddenly very tired.  He can’t even think straight.  “We need to lock ourselves in.  Everyone in the cells.”

“Outside is secure.  The fences, the doors, I double checked.”  Glenn says.  Oscar nods at Glenn’s words.  Always thinking of them first, about the safety and good of everyone, Glenn.  His eyes meet his, the lingering smile, and his head spins. 

“What about my Dad?” Carl speaks up.

“He’s grieving,” Hershel says to Carl, waving him towards the cellblock.  “He’ll be alright.  We’ll be safer inside.”

They lock up behind them, even Oscar and Axel, grabbing some spare blankets, taking the empty rooms at the end of the row.  Daryl gives them a solitaire nod.  They’d done good by them.  It wouldn’t be fair to kick them out now, to make them to go back to their overrun cellblock.

“They helped clear this block,” Glenn says to him.  Takes his hand and pulls him up to the second floor.  Hauls him into his cell.  Daryl doesn’t object, glad to have Glenn near him, to ground him as his spinning head, all the doubts and thoughts spiral him away from where he’s standing.  “They’re good guys.” 

Glenn wraps his arms around his shoulders.  Daryl drops his crossbow, resting its weight against the wall.  He pulls him close with his hands around Glenn’s waist.  His one hand slowly ascends over his back, tracing the spinal cord, measuring each space between the protruding bumps, the shape of his ribcage, the softness of his damp skin.  Fingers stop at his heart.  Tries to memorize the thumps, the skips, the asymmetric beats he’s gotten so used to.  Glenn’s breaths are hot against his neck.  “I’m sorry about today.”

He doesn’t understand.

Glenn continues.  “If I never suggested about burning the bodies…  If we never went out there…  If we had been here!”

Glenn has the same thoughts as he.  All the thoughts he’s had melt away.

“It’s as much my fault as it is yours.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly.  It’s nobody’s fault.  It just happened.”

Leans down to kiss him.  Because he wants to believe it just as much.

He lays him down on the mattress, to hold him, to kiss him, to listen to him breath, to his heart’s irregular beating.  Because he wants to believe that he should.

\---  

  

He can’t believe it.  “Merle?!”  Just cannot believe he is really seeing the person standing in front of him is Merle.  Merle, who he had thought he would never see again.  “You made it.”

Merle asks, “Can you tell me, is my brother still alive?”

Maggie looks over at him.  She’s trying to figure it out.

_Daryl_ …  Glenn goes blank.  Not now.  Not here.

He had argued about going out scavenging with Maggie.  Argued, is not the right word.  Because Daryl hadn’t said anything back.  It isn’t his first run, and it won’t be his last but Daryl had shaken his head at him.  And he’d lashed out at him, angry.  He’d accused Daryl of not trusting him enough to make it back, to not be able to take care of himself, of thinking that he’s still just a weak, sick little kid in his eyes.  And Daryl’s blue eyes had looked down at him, lips bitten.  And he had known right away that he shouldn’t have said those things.  He had been blaming himself for losing three of their people and he so wanted to make it better for all of them.  So he had made careful plans about going on a run.  Daryl had his fingers around his nape, letting the lengthy hair curl around them, lips grazing over his temple, holding him for a long minute silently.

“You won’t lose me, I’ll be careful,” he’d sworn.  He leaned up to kiss Daryl, who pulled away a little too fast.  Daryl had let him go.  He can still feel his hand, his fingers.  He can still recall the earthy windy scent on his skin, the firm strength of his arms and his fingers, the coarse softness of his mouth against his.  And the hurt in his eyes at the accusations.

“Yeah,” he answers Merle.  Merle, who pretends to be unarmed, but pulls a gun on them, taking Maggie hostage.

He should have explained, apologized about what he’d said.  If only he’d known.  _Daryl, your brother is alive.  Daryl, I should have let you know.  Daryl, I think I won’t make it out of this.  Daryl, I shouldn’t have made us think that we’re safe, anywhere, because I think I’ve disillusioned the entire situation._

Merle makes him drive towards his camp.  Glenn tries to think of a hundred things he can do to get out of this situation but he cannot.  Merle still has his gun against Maggie’s head.

“Is this your…  little girlfriend?”  Merle says to him.

Glenn chooses not to answer.  Let him think whatever he wants.  Merle takes his silence as an affirmative, studying Maggie’s profile.  “You’ve got yourself a pretty one here.  How did _you_ ever manage that?”

Glenn meets Maggie’s eyes over the rearview.  Maggie remains silent as well.  She’s probably figured out who he is.  She knows most of the story about what happened at their quarry camp.  Merle chuckles at them, barking out directions.  Glenn drives because he doesn’t want Maggie to get hurt.  He needs to protect her, his people, and Daryl… 

God.  Daryl.  If he finds out, if he somehow figures out about what happened to them, he’s not sure if anyone would be able to stop him.  Even if he ends up killing his own brother, he’ll try to find him, to get him back.  And he worries if Daryl finds him killed, it’ll be one more death Daryl will think is on his hand.  No.  He’ll survive this.  He’ll get out of here.  He’ll get Maggie safely back to her family.  And he’ll go back to Daryl.  He’ll lay in his arms again, on the moist overgrown grass, under the dark star-filled sky.  And then, he will be able to say it back, again and again.  Because he does.  He’ll get back to him, to his family, no matter what it takes.

_Daryl, I love you, too…_

\---  

  

He steps back and away.

_Daryl_!!

He can still hear him as he walks away, meeting Merle at the tree he’s leaning on for support.  He hadn’t wanted to weigh the price of his brother and his family.  He hadn’t wanted to choose either or.  But it’s Merle, whom he had never thought would see again.  He can still see Glenn’s hurt face, the things Merle had done to him, and he can still hear his voice.

“Daryl!!”

And he’s hurting him even more by walking away.

He’d looked into Glenn’s eyes, pleading him to let Merle come with them, even if it’s only for one night, to talk over things.  Not right there, not in the woods, everyone tired and hyped from the adrenaline, the rush and the running.  He could not look at the swollen black eye, the busted lip and blood stained skin.  He had felt panicked, the want of punching Merle until he looked like the way Glenn looked, the need to protect Glenn and his brother.  He’d felt all stretched out.  In his confused feeling, had yelled at Glenn, yelled at Merle, Rick, everyone.  He’d felt like he’d returned to being that person he thought he’d grown out of, one who’d been Daryl Dixon, Merle Dixon’s brother.  Rick knocking Merle out had given him some space to breathe, to really take in the situation.

At Maggie’s pleading eyes, he’d apologized.  He had wanted to pull Glenn into an embrace, to try to make it right.  But the thoughts had all rushed back inside.  If he hadn’t been so fixated on Glenn, to find him, to rescue him, to bring him home, he might not have been captured.  It doesn’t matter anymore though.  It’s done, and he’s walking away.  It just proves Glenn had been right, that they shouldn’t have, that he shouldn’t.

But it’s his heart breaking, his legs walking away from his Glenn, his family.  This time, not a _we_.  Not thinking about taking off with Glenn, to leave everyone behind except for Glenn.  It’s just him, leaving everything behind.  So he wouldn’t be blinded by this thing called love that clouds his vision, so he can really see that he can’t have everything he wants.  And he thinks bitterly, maybe Glenn will be better without him in the way. 

_No him, no me_ …  He shouldn’t have given an ultimatum.  His inside feels empty.  There are no heartbeats, just a hollow nothing where his heart had been beating.  There is no replacement for Glenn, he knows that.  But maybe he shouldn’t have fallen in love with him.  Maybe he had been right, Glenn.  Maybe he shouldn’t have started at all…

Merle laughs beside him.  “Let ‘em try to survive without us.”

“Just…  Be quiet…”

He cannot be sure if his heart will be functional tomorrow.  He’ll always have Glenn on his mind, he knows, but perhaps this really is the best thing for both of them.  Maybe this is the way they’ll both survive.  Besides, _he doesn’t love me the way I love him, after all,_ _I would have…_  

His hands tremble so he grips harder on his crossbow strap.

_I would have loved you till the end_ …

\---  

  

There’s only anger left inside him.  He doesn’t care about his heart skipping, missing beats.  Can’t even _feel_ his goddamn heart.  Just the boiling rage in him.  He’s angry at himself for not being able to keep Maggie safe, at Daryl for leaving the way he did, at the Governor, at Merle…

Glenn hadn’t slept the night before, or the night before that.  The flat pillow they had shared still smells like Daryl.  There’s Daryl’s worn out shirt, still on the floor where he’d tossed it, being too hot inside, but not too hot to sleep fitted against each other’s bodies. 

And he can’t stand it.  He just cannot do it, letting Daryl go like that, letting him bleed out of his heart.

Hershel tries to coax him, reproaches him for his hotheaded plans to attack Woodbury but he doesn’t hear the meanings of anything.  He takes the truck and leaves the compounds.  He drives out towards Woodbury, but stops, turns and makes a perimeter around the prison.  He locates the broken down area that Tyreese had been talking about.  He tries to fix it the best he could, making a mental note about the location, if they can somehow make it through from the inside to patch it up, make it safer.  The way the bricks are broken down will make it hard, but not impossible for walkers to climb.  It explains the civilian walkers that were inside the prison.

He sits in the truck, trying to figure the place out on the hand drawn map of the prison.  He takes out the pills wrapped in a bit of cloth from his pocket.  He’d thought he might need them, judging by the way he’d been feeling since the morning but it is just different.  So he needed to get out of there, away from everyone, all the small reminders about Daryl.  His heart beats on, steadily.  He knows the big void inside is not his sickness.  It’s Daryl.

He screams out his sob; it tears out of him.  This isn’t supposed to happen, not like this.  Even when he’d been a captive of Merle and the Governor, he’d known he would get out somehow, had the intense drive to survive because he knew that he would see Daryl again.  See his family again.  But Daryl had walked away from him.  The scene keeps replaying in his head.  Daryl, walking away, his eyes passing over him.

He should have said something to make him stay, to change his mind.  He needs him back.  If he can, he’ll take Merle, too, if it means he can have Daryl back.  If he can have that chance again to make everything better.

He hears a rattling, the earth trembling, like a bomb went off and then a series of gunshots echoing through the woods.  He starts the engine back up, drives the perimeter back to the entrance gates.

\--- 

 

Summer rain falls over them.  They stand on the hot asphalt, the sudden rain making foggy mist around them, like melting dry ice.  And neither want to move, just stand there, letting the rain soak them.

Glenn listens to his heart beating.  He’s always been so aware of it, his entire life.  He had never thought the world would change in this way.  He still has to think for a while to believe that the things he’d taken granted for, like his family, friends, television, his phone, the internet or the pills and medical procedures that had promised to cure him entirely, are all gone.  Now, he is much more aware of his heart, the one thing he’d always thought a burden, a big chunk of his life that he had wished were different, how unsteady the beats are, how it skips, how it has a rhythm of its own.  A rhythm that is not set by his body’s activities or movements or steps, but setting its own.  To match the rhythm, he needs to slow down, to feel out the rush, to understand that he’s in pain, and he thinks, it is so much like Daryl.

Daryl, his face is raised to the cloudy grey sky, letting the rain water wash over his face, taking some of the dirt and grime with it.  His hair is drenched, all his clothes, but then he is, as well.

Daryl is the same as his heart beats.  Daryl is the rhythmic steps he needs to follow, to rush forward for, to feel this pain and be okay with it, to dance to.  Daryl is the beats in his heart, affective and sometimes consuming all of his consciousness, all his reasons.  Daryl is the skips in them, without him his entire body feels cavernous, but belongs between the beats, to his uniquely rhythmic heart; without them he wouldn’t be Glenn.

Glenn still feels a bit of sting at the deep cuts and the bruises he’d received from Merle, yet to heal completely.  There’s no forgiving him for that and he won’t be able to forget but he can ignore him.  He doesn’t know for how long, but he can try to civil.  Daryl is back, and that’s all that matters for now.

Heart beats faster.  Rain falls harder.

“I love you,” he says.  Louder.  “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl’s eyes are sad.  The blues are cloudy, like the grey skies.  Glenn doesn’t know if the water in those eyes are tears or the rain water.  For the first time, he doesn’t understand them.

“Never loved anyone as much as I love you, never will,” his voice is barely audible in the hard rain fall.  Glenn can already feel his heart breaking.  “You were right.  We… shouldn’t…”

He knows the hot drops over his face are tears.  They mix with the rain, falling down to the ground he’s standing on. 

“Is there nothing that’ll change your mind?”

“Nothing I can think of, not right now.”

“I…”  Throat clamps up.  There is nothing to say, anyway, if it won’t change Daryl’s decision.

Daryl says, “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you…  I need…”

All he can do is nod and agree.  Turn and walk far away.

   

   

   

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> It took me about two weeks to write and edit this chapter. It was hard to really describe the things I wanted to say correctly, but I will admit I had some of the parts in this chapter written way way long time ago, probably as I was writing the outline of the story. The initial outline that I had written while S4 was airing for the first time has long since been tossed, but I had kept these few lines. I, of course, have another route the story will take, and the good news is that no matter how S7 comes to us, this story will continue. (say what?)
> 
> I have some concerns about the pace of this story after chapter 4. The "before quarry" scenes took 4 chapters but now one chapter is half a season or more. I was wondering if this new pace is a concern to anyone, if you would have me write "longer", if you really need a particular part described more or "analyzed" in the future chapters (like, there's no way I can go back to the posted ones to try to add or fix, wouldn't make any sense, yiiiipp). Would love a feedback about the current pace of the story, in particular. (since I'm writing for you guys more than for me, cuz I know what the story is, it's in my head, heeee) or whatever else, bothering you about the story or life in general, I'd love to hear. If it's a question, I'll reply back or answer in the next chapter, but for this particular story, I wanted to not add to the comments count with replies, hope you don't mind. (I really seriously read each one and love/appreciate/#reedus all of them!!)
> 
> Chapter 10 and 11's mix is Matthew Good (Band) and a few movie soundtracks.


End file.
